The Shadowed Throne
by Opifex the Singer
Summary: Sequel to White to Black. It is the 85th year of King Galbatorix's reign, and the country is peaceful. But the Forsworn are dying and Galbatorix fears he will soon be the last rider left. And all the while, a group of rebels plots his downfall...
1. The Mad King

Chapter One

The Mad King

It was early evening, and the sky over the city of Urû'baen was pale mauve, dotted with the first stars, and in the streets below people were returning home from work. It was the eighty-fifth year of the reign of King Galbatorix the First, and in a large tavern not far from the Westernmost wall of the city, two men sat at a table and shared a loaf of bread. As they did so, they were approached by a third man. 'May I join you?' he asked.

One of them glanced at the jug of mead he was holding, and grinned. 'Sure, if you bring that with you.'

The man sat down and poured some out for them. 'I'm not sure what they put in this stuff, but be my guest.'

One of the men tried a mouthful, and blinked in surprise. 'By gods, you're generous. This stuff isn't cheap.'

The man shrugged and took a seat next to him. 'Help yourself.'

'Don't mind if I do. I'm Lando, by the way.'

'Rannoch,' said the man. He was middle-aged, with short grey hair and a neat beard.

'And I'm Robb,' Lando's companion added.

'Pleased to meet you,' said Rannoch.

'So, where'd you spring from, Rannoch?' said Lando. 'Don't think I've seen you around here before.'

'I work up at the castle,' said Rannoch.

'Oh. Really? What d'you do there?'

Rannoch sighed and poured himself some mead. 'Try and think of all the jobs in the entire kingdom, and I can guarantee you mine's the worst.'

Robb grinned. 'I know what you mean. I spend every day moving crates down the warehouse. All day long it's do this do that, get a move on. No thanks, and the pay's terrible.'

'Yeah, and my boss keeps on threatening to sack me,' said Lando. 'Can't seem to do anything but whine about how bad I am, but this one time when I stayed all night to finish off a wall that was behind schedule, did he bother to pay me extra? No. Didn't even say thankyou.'

'I can sympathise with _that_,' said Rannoch. 'Every day, it's do this, see about that, deal with some whiny idiot who can't be bothered to think for himself… I have so much paperwork to deal with I have to work on it while I'm eating lunch. Just today I had to throw something away because I spilled mustard on it.'

Lando chuckled. 'Sounds like a nightmare. What is it you do over there?'

'Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that. Whatever needs doing.' Rannoch drank deeply, his demeanour gloomy.

'So,' said Robb. 'You heard the latest?'

'What's up, Robb?' said Lando.

'I just heard it from someone I work with,' said Robb. He put down his mug, evidently relishing the moment. 'Took me by surprise, I can tell you.'

'C'mon, out with it,' said Lando.

'Lady Tranah's dead,' said Robb. 'Just a few days ago.'

'What, Lady Tranah of Teirm?' said Lando, taken aback. _'That_ Lady Tranah?'

'Who else could it be? But yeah, she's dead. Not sure how it happened, but they're saying the Varden assassinated her.'

Lando whistled. 'That's, what, three governors they've killed now, isn't it?'

'Four,' said Rannoch.

'Anyway, they'll be sending her body here to be buried, I reckon,' said Robb. 'It's what they did with the others.'

'The King can't be happy about it,' said Lando.

'He isn't,' said Rannoch.

'Hmm? What's that, Rannoch?'

'I was there when he got the news,' Rannoch explained. 'No, he's not happy at all.'

Lando whistled. 'You've seen the King?'

Rannoch nodded. 'A few times.'

'What's he like?'

Rannoch appeared to think about it for a while. 'Cold,' he said at last.

'They say he's insane,' said Robb. 'I heard he wanders the castle walls at night, calling the names of his dead friends.'

'Well, it's the first _I've_ heard of it,' said Rannoch. 'If he's mad, I never saw anything.'

'Well, how would anyone really know?' said Lando. 'He never comes out of the castle any more.'

'It didn't used to be like that,' said Robb. 'He used to come out into the city every now and then… my grandfather used to tell me stories. Actually, he says he even saw him once. Did I ever tell you that story?'

'I don't think so,' said Lando. 'Go ahead.'

'Well,' said Robb. 'A while back, before Lady Ana was killed, there was a troupe of actors who came to the city. Travellers. And they had a new play to perform. A comedy. It was about the King.'

Lando winced. 'What were they thinking?'

Robb shrugged. 'Anyway, the lead actor was the one playing the part of the King. My grandfather says he was quite good at it. They stayed in the city for weeks, and a lot of people went to watch. They got to be very well-known. Of course, people were a bit uneasy about it. If the King got wind of it… well, they could be arrested, or at least thrown out of the city. And then one night, my grandfather went to see the play.'

'What happened?' said Rannoch.

'Well, everything went as usual,' said Robb. 'The actors did their stuff, everyone had a good laugh, and then…'

'What?' said Lando.

'And then the King himself was there,' said Robb. 'My grandfather said no-one ever quite figured out how he got there. One minute he wasn't, and the next minute he was. Like a ghost. My grandfather said he just turned around and saw him sitting in the back of the theatre, all alone, without any guards or anything.'

Lando gasped. 'What the hell happened then?'

'Well, everyone just froze and stood there staring at him, and then he just stood up, pointed at the head of the troupe and told him he needed to work on the voice. And then he just walked out and disappeared.'

'What, and that was it?' said Lando.

'So my granddad said,' said Robb. 'But the next day the actors left the city. My guess is they were too scared to want to stay.'

Rannoch snickered. 'Sounds like they couldn't take a little criticism.'

'Of course,' said Robb, 'Not long after that he stopped coming into the city any more. Just locked himself away. Around the time Lady Orwyne got assassinated.'

'I don't blame him,' said Rannoch.

'Neither do I,' said Lando. 'They're saying there's agents of the Varden hiding somewhere, right here in Urû'baen. Dunno if it's true, but if it is you can bet they'll be plotting to kill him next.'

'The Varden? They're just a group of grubby rebels,' Rannoch sneered. 'They couldn't kill him. He's tougher than that.'

'I dunno about that,' said Lando. 'I mean, they just killed Lady Tranah, didn't they? And she would have had plenty of guards around her after what happened to Orwyne and Ana.'

'The Varden didn't kill Lady Tranah,' Rannoch interrupted.

'What? How do you know?'

'Because I was the one who reported it to the King himself,' said Rannoch. 'Lady Ana and Lady Orwyne were killed by the Varden, but the Lady Tranah wasn't. As far as anyone knows, the Varden doesn't even have a presence in Teirm.'

'How did she die, then?' said Robb.

'Strangulation,' said Rannoch.

'What?' said Lando.

'She hanged herself,' said Rannoch. 'They found her in her bedchamber.'

'What, _suicide?'_ said Robb. 'Are you sure?'

'Of course I'm sure,' Rannoch said heavily. 'It was a clear-cut case. The door was locked from the inside, and the window was barred. And she had left a note. I don't know what it said; it was for the King's eyes only.'

'Why would she have killed herself?' said Lando. 'It doesn't make any sense.'

Rannoch shrugged and downed the last of his mead. 'No doubt she had her reasons.'

'That leaves only four riders in the entire country,' said Robb. 'Including the King.'

Lando snorted. 'Yeah. And he's only got himself to blame for that, hasn't he?'

'Couldn't blame anyone else for it, could they?' said Robb. 'Yeah…' he sighed. 'What a world we live in. Urgals, Shades and Ra'zac everywhere, the elves and the dwarves both gone, and the dragons wiped out. At this rate there won't be a single rider left except the King.'

'Well, what would _he_ care?' said Lando. 'He gets the best of everything and leaves us to deal with his taxes.'

'Yeah,' said Robb. He stared into the depths of his drink. 'It didn't used to be like this. Not when the riders were still around.'

'They still are,' Rannoch pointed out.

'Yeah, but not like they used to be,' said Robb. 'Not like it was before the war. The sky was full of dragons, and humans lived with elves and dwarves. We didn't have the fear back then. And then because of one man we ended up like this – living under the thumb of the Mad King.'

Rannoch was giving him an incredulous look. 'You can't honestly believe that.'

'What, you think it's better now with that lunatic in charge?' said Robb.

'How would I know?' said Rannoch. 'How would anyone know? It was nearly a hundred years ago, for the gods' sakes. But you want to go _back_ to that? How d'you know it won't be worse?'

'It couldn't possibly be worse than being ruled by a murderer,' Robb muttered.

'Robb, stop that,' Lando said sharply, elbowing his friend in the ribs. 'You could be arrested for saying things like that.'

'I doubt it,' said Rannoch, pouring himself another drink. 'The King probably can't hear you from here. Anyway, since when did he have people arrested for talking?'

'Well, what about that time when those fellows from Surda got thrown into prison for being Varden sympathisers?' said Lando.

'It's called "sedition". It _is_ in the law books, you know,' said Rannoch.

'And what about that book he banned? "Rise to Power" or whatever it was called?'

'There are laws against propaganda. The King was within his rights.'

'You're awfully sympathetic to him,' said Robb.

Rannoch shrugged. 'He pays my salary.'

'It's all very well for you, with that cushy job of yours,' said Robb.

'"Cushy"? Hah!' Rannoch laughed derisively. 'It's about as cushy as cleaning privies, and only half as dignified. Now…' he glanced at the window. 'I'd better head home. I've got a lot to do tomorrow.'

'Oh. Goodbye, then,' said Lando.

Rannoch stood up. 'It was nice chatting to you.' He nodded rather formally to them, and left the tavern.

Robb and Lando watched him go. 'What an oddball,' said Lando.

'Yeah,' said Robb. 'I wonder what the heck's so awful about working at the castle? It can't possibly be as bad as he was making out.'

It was quite dark by the time Rannoch emerged into the open air. He walked off along the street back toward the city centre, shoulders hunched. After a while he started to mutter irritably to himself. '…thumb of a lunatic… taxes… sedition… bloody idiots.'

As he passed through a narrow back-street, a noise behind him made him pause and look back. There was no-one there. But as he turned back to continue on his way, he was in time to see a group of three heavy-set men step out of an alley and block his way. Even as he slowed down, two more appeared behind him.

The apparent leader of the thugs pulled out a dagger. 'All right, old man. Hand over your money pouch and we won't have to hurt you.'

Rannoch stopped. 'Oh, for the love of gods. Can't you go and annoy someone else?'

The thug snarled and lashed out with one huge fist, aiming for Rannoch's face. But the old man neatly side-stepped it and punched him smartly in the jaw.

The other muggers rushed in at him from all sides. But he was ready for them. He ducked and weaved, keeping his distance from them to avoid being surrounded as they were trying to do. They, expecting to take him down quickly, soon became confused. Rannoch did not fight like an old man. He was simply too fast to be hit, and impossibly strong. As soon as he had broken free, he kicked one of them in the back of the knee, hurling him down, and punched a second in the face, breaking his nose. The third one to come at him managed to land a glancing blow, but Rannoch seized him by the wrist and broke it with a quick, ruthless twist. The remaining two, knowing that guards would soon come running toward the noise, panicked and fled.

When the guards arrived, they found three groaning men lying in the street, clutching at various wounds and, standing over them, a slight middle-aged man, watching their approach with his arms folded. 'These men tried to mug me,' he said. 'I suggest you arrest them. There were two others – they went that way.' He pointed.

Several guards ran in that direction, while the others hauled the muggers to their feet.

'You'd better come with us too,' one said, to Rannoch.

Rannoch inclined his head. 'I'd be glad to, but I'm afraid my time is valuable. Keep up the good work.' He strolled off.

'Hey!' two guards ran after him, but he turned into a side-alley and vanished, and no amount of searching could make him reappear. It was like trying to find a ghost. Rannoch watched the guards from his hiding-place, and stifled a snigger. It was childish, he knew, but he couldn't help but enjoy it anyway. As soon as they had gone, he re-emerged and walked off. Ahead of him, the castle loomed darkly over the rooftops of Urû'baen. High above it, on the huge tower built especially for that purpose, the shape of a great dragon shifted slightly, silhouetted against the stars.

Rannoch made straight for the castle, moving with a steady, confident tread. He found a back door leading into the kitchens and slipped through it. There were a few people still at work in there, but he evaded them easily enough and passed through the various corridors, heading for the living quarters. As he walked, he could feel an unpleasant tingling spreading over his skin. His head ached, more and more fiercely, and he lurched suddenly as the corridor around him warped and shifted, stretching and twisting as if he were seeing it through a pool of water. He staggered and nearly fell, catching himself on the wall. As he leaned against it, breathing rapidly, he could see his hand, gripping the stone. The skin was moving over the bone and flesh, stretching itself back from the fingertips as if pulled by some unseen force.

Rannoch took in several deep breaths and righted himself. Concentrating with all his might on keeping his legs steady, he found a small door and ducked through it, slamming it behind him. Beyond was a store-room full of neatly folded clean linen, and he hastily locked the door behind him and then collapsed onto a heap of pillows. He lay still for a few minutes, groaning softly, and then he started to twitch and convulse. He gritted his teeth to stop himself crying out, as pain spread all over his body; burning, wrenching pain. It felt as if his very bones were moving inside him against their will. Tears forced themselves out of his eyes, and his face glistened with sweat. He shuddered violently, his fists clenching, his teeth gritted so hard that they threatened to break.

And then, quite suddenly, the world around him went dark.

The pain faded slowly. He lay still on the heap of pillows, listening to the sound of his own shaky breathing. He could feel himself shivering.

He waited until his vision returned, and then got up. He checked himself, and once he was satisfied he unlocked the door and peered out into the corridor. There was no-one around, and he slipped out and walked off, listening carefully for any sound of approach. Once, hearing the footsteps of someone coming up the corridor behind him, he hid around a corner, waiting silently until they had passed by. Once he was alone again, he emerged and walked on.

He reached a door at the end of a corridor, and passed through it. There was a spiral staircase on the other side, and he climbed it, not troubling to keep quiet this time. It led to another door, this one made of very heavy wood, studded with nails. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked it.

Once he had entered the room beyond and locked the door behind him, he finally relaxed.

The room was small and plain, and sparsely furnished. It had a low, flat ceiling and only one window, and the only furniture were a desk, a chair, a cupboard, a chest and a rug on the floor. In one corner, a simple cloth hammock had been slung up from a pair of metal rings driven into the walls.

He sighed deeply and picked up a candle-stick from the desk. He muttered a few strange-sounding words, and the candles spluttered into life. He put them back onto the desk and strode over to the cupboard. Inside were a selection of robes, and several pairs of heavy leather boots neatly lined up. He opened a drawer underneath and pulled out a clean nightshirt, then stripped off his tunic, boots and trousers and packed them away. He put on the nightshirt, closed the cupboard and returned to the desk. A row of slates hung on the wall behind it, each one marked with an image in strikingly bright, vivid detail. They were pictures of people, for the most part, but among them were three dragons – one black, one white, and one silver. Beside the image of the silver dragon hung one of a woman. She was elvish, that was plain, and… strange. Her hair was silvery-grey and her skin had a metallic sheen to it. Her eyes, staring out of the slate, were burning gold, and her expression was fierce.

He looked at it for a moment, and then touched the hilt of a sword that hung above it. It was elegantly made, with a plain silver hilt set with a massive black diamond. The blade, which was an extraordinary pure white chased with silver veins, was engraved with a triple-spiral symbol, and two words. _Hvítr Atganga. _In the ancient language of magic, they meant "white violence".

Not far from the sword was a large mirror, simply framed but with an obsessively polished surface. He looked into it in the candle-light, and sighed when he saw what stared back.

It was a very different face now.

The face was pale, its features angular and very slightly odd. Just how wasn't clear, but there was something about it that wasn't quite right. Something not entirely… human.

The eyes were black and glittering and cold of expression, their stare disconcertingly direct, and the ears, poking through a shoulder-length mane of carefully-combed black curls, were ragged at the tops. The face was clean-shaven but for a small, pointed beard, and, though it was smooth and unlined, it did not look young. Even though at first glance it looked like the face of a man no older than twenty-five, there was something about it – a tiredness about the eyes, a bitter set to the mouth – that hinted at great age.

He touched it carefully, and sighed. Changing back got harder all the time. Sometimes he wished that he would somehow be unable to go back, and escape into a different name and a different face forever. But some things could never change, and he knew it all too well.

He looked at the face of King Galbatorix Taranisäii, and saw it stare back knowingly.

'The worst job in the kingdom,' he muttered, and turned away.


	2. The Forsworn

Chapter Two

The Forsworn

The city of Gil'ead was bustling. It was market day, and the streets were thronged with people, buying and selling, filling the air with their chatter.

In his large bedroom in the castle where he lived, Lord Morzan, governor of Gil'ead, woke up to the sound of it drifting in through his window. He turned over in bed, mumbling, and tried to go back to sleep. But his pounding headache forced him to stay awake. He lurched out of bed and staggered over to the nightstand, where a dish of cold water had been left for him. He dunked his head in it and withdrew, blinking and dripping. It did virtually nothing to subdue the headache, which had dug its claws into his head and was now bashing at his brain, making his vision flash red. There was a dry, sickly taste in his mouth, and his stomach was churning.

He picked up a jug of water and downed it, spilling the contents over his nightshirt. It helped to revive him a little, and he started to dress, his movements clumsy. Even doing up the buttons on his jerkin was difficult. He managed it after a few goes, and fumbled for a comb. He peered at himself in the mirror.

His face had changed over the years. His forehead was lined now, and one half of his mouth frowned permanently from an old scar that went clear across his cheek from the corner of his eye. His hair, once dark brown, was shot through with grey, and his eyes had faded. Even a rider aged. This morning he was pale and unshaven, and his eyes were red-rimmed and shadowed.

Morzan muttered a spell which made the stubble fall off his chin in a little puff of tiny brown hairs. It was easier than shaving, but he instantly regretted it. Even the tiny burst of magical energy this one spell took made the pain in his head surge horribly. His vision actually went black for a moment, and he bared his teeth. As he turned away, swearing, he saw the flagon lying next to his bed and kicked it. It sailed across the room and shattered against the wall, spilling dregs of wine onto the floor.

The presence of his dragon, Idün, appeared in his head. _'Hung over again?'_ she asked in a tired voice.

'_Yeah,'_ Morzan muttered back.

'_Morzan… you really shouldn't drink so much,'_ said Idün. _'It's bad for you.'_

'_I know,'_ said Morzan. _'I just needed it last night. Couldn't sleep.'_

'_Nightmares again?'_

'_I just couldn't sleep,'_ said Morzan, knowing perfectly well that she wouldn't be fooled. He told the lie anyway, from force of habit. It was easier.

Idün sighed. _'Yes…'_

'_What time is it?'_ said Morzan, reaching for his boots.

'_Midday, or just past it.'_

'_Godsdammit…'_ he pulled on his boots as fast as he could, dragged the comb through his hair, and left the bedchamber.

He couldn't face eating anything, and went straight to his office. There was a servant waiting for him there. 'Lord Morzan, it's good to see you. Are you feeling better?'

Morzan grunted. 'What's business today, Todd?'

The servant held out a piece of paper. 'A bird came for you early this morning, my Lord. It was carrying a message from the King.'

Morzan took it, his stomach lurching grotesquely. 'That all?'

'The reports have been placed on your desk, my Lord,' said the servant. Morzan wished he would speak more quietly.

'Right then,' he said. 'Beat it.'

The servant left, and Morzan slumped down behind his desk. Someone had thoughtfully left a jug of water for him, and he poured some into a cup and drank it in one long swallow. He followed it with another, and poured a third cupful before finally unfolding the letter. It had been sealed with wax bearing the triple-spiral symbol of the King, and as soon as Morzan opened it he recognised Galbatorix's neat handwriting. He straightened out the parchment with a big, liver-spotted hand, and peered at it. The runes came into focus eventually, and he read them.

_To Lord Morzan,_

_You are hereby commanded to come to Urû'baen as soon as possible, to attend the funeral of the Lady Tranah of Teirm. Depart immediately. You will be able to leave as soon as the funeral rites are concluded._

_I hope your journey is swift and pleasant._

_Yours, King Galbatorix Taranisäii-Traeganni I, Lord of Alagaësia_

Below that was Galbatorix's signature.

Morzan sighed and put the letter aside. So many things to attend to, and yet he had to go to Urû'baen to bury one of his oldest friends. No doubt Galbatorix would be his usual cold, dispassionate self, though the two of them hadn't met face-to-face in over thirty years. Morzan always opened letters from him nervously, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps, deep down, he was expecting one of them to contain something other than what they always did; brief, formal lists of commands. The letters of a King, not a friend.

Even now, however, the prospect of seeing him again made Morzan feel uneasy. The last time they had met had not been pleasant, and they hadn't spoken since then except in formal, impersonal terms.

Tranah's death was less unsettling. Morzan had been shocked when the news had come, but not particularly surprised. He had seen his fellow rider more frequently than he had seen their leader, and had been a bleak witness to her decline. Like him she had been left scarred by the war that had destroyed the old order of riders, and in his heart he had been expecting something like this to happen for a long time. The only real surprise was that she had held on for so long. Perhaps her sense of duty had kept her alive. Teirm had been badly damaged by an urgal uprising ten years earlier, and Tranah had had her hands full overseeing its rebuilding and gradual recovery. Now, though, with the city back to something approaching its former grandeur, she would have had far less to do. More time to think. She had always been the most clear-thinking and rational member of the Forsworn, and Morzan didn't doubt that she had been planning her own death for some time. Waiting for a time when she was no longer needed. In truth, Morzan too had thought of taking his own life more than once. In the end, he knew, it was nothing but pure cowardice that had held him back.

To distract himself, he shuffled through the stack of reports on his desk. It was the usual stuff; reports of a couple of granaries that needed to be renovated, a list of figures from the treasurer, complaints about a lack of sanitation in the West End, a minor outbreak of disease and talk of some local herbalists who were selling illegal drugs, plus a list of all the arrests made over the last week by the city guard. Nothing particularly urgent. He could afford to leave for a week or so.

No sense in waiting around. He forced himself to drink the rest of the water, and left the office.

Once he had assigned a couple of servants to pack his bags, and given his instructions to a local noble who would be temporary governor during his absence, he went up onto the dragon roost to meet Idün. The red dragon, massive now, and aged like himself, brought her snout down toward him. _'The King wants to see us?'_

Morzan scratched her nose. _'It's just for Tranah's funeral.'_

'_But he probably wants to see you again as well,'_ said Idün. _'How long has it been?'_

'_About thirty-two years. Since the famine.'_

'_Are you still angry with him?'_ Idün asked softly.

Morzan shrugged. _'What's it matter? What would he care?'_

'_Of course he cares,'_ said Idün. _'He's your friend.'_

'_No he ain't,'_ said Morzan. _'He's nobody's friend any more, and that's how he likes it.'_

'_You know that's not true, Morzan.'_

The servants arrived with his bags and Idün's saddle, and he stood aside to let them prepare her for the journey. _'Do I?'_ he asked sourly.

'_Just talk to him,'_ said Idün. _'You can't stay like this forever, and neither can he. He's still human, and I think he misses you as much as you miss him.'_

'_I don't miss him any more than he misses me,'_ Morzan snapped.

Idün sighed and straightened up as the servants finished adjusting her saddle. They left hastily, and Morzan climbed onto his partner's back and strapped his legs to the saddle. He had put on his warmest set of travelling clothes, and his sword, Zar'roc, was slung on his back.

Once he was secure, Idün tensed and took to the air with a quick, powerful thrust of her wings. _'Well,' _she said as she flew off over the city, _'I suppose we'll just have to find out when we get there.'_

The journey to Urû'baen took a few days, and proved uneventful. Morzan stopped at a few small towns and villages along the way, where he was greeted respectfully and given shelter for the night. Everything looked peaceful and orderly, which was how it was through the entire country. Apart from a few minor conflicts and the continued survival of the elusive rebel group known as the Varden, Alagaësia was in the midst of one of the most settled and prosperous times it had experienced so far. That was something not many people were aware of but, then, if Morzan had learned anything over the last eighty-odd years of helping his master run the country, it was that gratitude was not something that came naturally to ordinary people in regards to their governments. Morzan remembered the country as it had been under the rule of the riders of old quite well, and as far as he could recall nobody had ever called it a golden age at the time. When he had governed cities on behalf of Vrael and the council of elders he commanded, it had been almost exactly the same then as it was now, doing the same thing on behalf of King Galbatorix. The same duties, the same routine, the same troublesome people to deal with, the same complaints about laws and taxes. The difference now was the way people seemed to view their rulers. The riders of old had been more than just obeyed and respected; the people they ruled over had held them in almost godlike reverence, as if, having been forbidden to worship their old deities, they had chosen their overlords as a rather more solid and tangible substitute.

But that had changed after the rebellion of thirteen discontented riders, incited and led by Galbatorix, had risen up and effectively destroyed the old ways for good. The war, thanks almost entirely to Galbatorix's charismatic and brilliant leadership, had ended in a crushing defeat for the council of elders. Ilirea, their capital, had been sacked, and Urû'baen was built on its ruins, after Galbatorix had personally hunted down the fleeing Vrael and killed him in single combat. Unfortunately, their victory had not come without a price. Of the twelve riders who originally turned against Vrael – known collectively as the Forsworn – only six had survived to see the creation of what was now referred to as the Alagaësian Empire. But they had not died at the hands of their enemies. Their deaths had happened on the night of Ilirea's destruction – a night that to this day was still talked about and speculated on by the commoners. It was a night that still haunted Morzan's dreams.

None of the surviving Forsworn had talked about what had happened in over eighty years, but it had effectively marked the end of their friendship forever, and the end of all true affection toward their leader. They still obeyed him out of duty and in faithfulness to the oaths they had sworn, but the pride they had once taken in it was now gone forever. Morzan blamed Galbatorix for what had happened, and there was no doubt the others did too. No-one really knew what Galbatorix himself thought. Although the Forsworn had remained cordial toward each other, none of them had been changed by that night as much as their leader had. From that day, he never again talked about himself. His face, always naturally impassive, had become a mask which never showed the slightest hint of any emotion. What he thought, what he felt, remained a mystery. Morzan had not seen him smile or heard him laugh in nearly ninety years. He still remembered the time, so long ago, when Galbatorix had been his friend. He had never been the most open or demonstrative person, but he had always had a light side to him. At times he could even be mischievous or playful. In spite of all that had happened to him, he had still had a boyishness about him – an inner youth and a passion for life and living. But that side of him had long since vanished. All Morzan ever saw in him now was coldness and sarcasm, mingled with a deep bitterness that he recognised all too well. Since the day he had been crowned, he had simply locked himself away inside. Once he had been a man first and a leader second, but now the man was gone and only the leader remained.

When Morzan saw Urû'baen's walls approaching, his heart started to pound. He closed his eyes and held onto Idün's neck, trying to breathe deeply, but he could not shake off the feeling that had taken hold of him. He knew it was fear.

Idün sped up a little when she saw the city ahead. As she neared it, she opened her jaws wide and roared. The sound ran ahead of her, loud and powerful, and a few moments later they heard an answering roar come from Urû'baen. Shruikan was greeting them.

The huge black dragon was waiting for them on his roost. Dragons never stopped growing, and over the years Galbatorix's partner had become as long as the entire Northern wall of the castle. He was powerfully muscled, his back hunched, neck elegantly curved, his head – nearly as big as a horse – heavy-snouted and brutal. His lower canines jutted over his top lip, and his head was crowned by six horns instead of the more usual four – making him what was referred to as a royal dragon. His rough, thick scales were all pitch black, but his wings, neatly folded, had pure white membranes.

Shruikan moved aside to let Idün land, growling at her. He had always been wilder than bonded dragons usually were, but when Idün had landed – only just able to fit on the roost beside him – he nuzzled roughly at her face and shoulders, making a rumbling sound deep in his chest. It sounded threatening, but to dragons it was a sign of affection, and Idün raised her head and rubbed her cheek against his, growling back.

Shruikan wasn't the only dragon in the area, however. There were two others perched on the castle ramparts – one yellow and one brown. Tuomas and Vander had already arrived.

Morzan undid the straps holding his legs to the saddle, and rather daringly slid down off Idün's back. He landed on his feet with a loud thud, and bowed to Shruikan. The black dragon sniffed briefly at him, and then looked haughtily away.

'_You probably oughta move to one of the walls once we've got the saddle off you,'_ said Morzan, to Idün. _'There ain't much room up here.'_

'_I think we can worry about that later,'_ said Idün.

'_What?'_

The red dragon nudged him gently in the back. _'There,'_ she said.

Morzan stilled. A dark figure had appeared from behind Shruikan's leg, and was walking toward him, eerily silent, moving with a careful, almost predatory tread.

Morzan opened his mouth, but his voice failed him. He stared and stared at it, his heart fluttering, not knowing what to do.

The figure halted in front of him, regarding him. 'Morzan.'

Morzan pulled himself together, and knelt. 'Sire.'

'Get up, Morzan.' The tone was weary, but commanding.

Morzan stood. 'Sire… my gods.'

He hadn't known what to expect after so long, but he hadn't been expecting this. Galbatorix hadn't changed at all. His hair, as neat as always, was black as night, without a hint of grey, his face had no wrinkles and his stance was straight and strong. He looked exactly the same as he had done thirty years earlier.

'You look well,' Galbatorix said. 'How was your journey?'

'Fine,' Morzan blurted. 'And how have you been?'

'A little tired,' said Galbatorix. 'And busy, as always, but I'm fine. Vander and Tuomas are already here, as you've probably guessed. And Tranah is here too. Vander brought her. The funeral rites will be this evening… we have things to discuss first. I've had a room prepared for you – do you need to rest, or would you like something to eat?'

Morzan's heart sank. 'Some food would be good.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'We'll let the servants take care of your luggage.' He turned away and vanished through the trapdoor back into the castle.

Morzan paused to pat Idün's shoulder, and followed. He found Galbatorix waiting for him, and the King wordlessly led him away to the dining hall. There, dishes of food had been laid on the table, and two men were sitting and talking quietly as they ate.

They looked up when Morzan came in, and stood to greet him. 'It's good to see you, Morzan,' said one of them.

Morzan embraced him briefly. 'Vander.'

Vander, a skinny man with dark brown skin and rough black hair, smiled slightly. Over the years he too had aged; there were fine lines on his face, and his hair was shot through with grey. 'You look good.'

Morzan grunted. 'I've been doing all right. Hello, Tuomas.'

Tuomas inclined his head toward him, somewhat nervously. 'Hello, Morzan. D'you want something to eat?'

'Yeah, thanks.' Morzan sat down and helped himself to some bread.

Galbatorix took his seat at the head of the table. He was wearing a black robe – the same outfit he always seemed to wear – but this one was rather more elegant than the plain affair he usually favoured. The collar and cuffs were trimmed with pale grey silk, embroidered with elaborate spiral patterns, and instead of being loose it had been shaped to fit his thin body, which it did very well.

'Rather good, isn't it?' he said, noticing Morzan looking at it. 'I just had it made a few days ago. I've employed a new tailor. Initially as a favour, but she's turned out to be very good at what she does. Now…' he looked around at the others, who looked back respectfully. But, instead of delivering whatever speech he had had in mind, he fell silent and poured himself some wine.

Morzan ate, forcing himself to look away from the flagon of wine. He didn't want to embarrass himself. Clearly, Tuomas felt the same way, because he quietly moved it out of the other rider's reach. They ate in tense, unhappy silence, each one aware of all the unspoken questions hanging in the air around them. Several times Vander looked as if he were going to speak, but he too was unable to make himself break the silence.

Only Galbatorix appeared calm. He sat on the high-backed, finely-carved chair made especially for him by the royal carpenter, delicately picking strawberries out of a bowl and eating them. Now, sitting with his three fellow riders, the strange youthfulness of his appearance was even more striking than before. Even Tuomas, the youngest there, looked older than him. It served to cut him off from them even more so than before. The Forsworn had aged together, but their leader had not. It was as if he had somehow remained behind in a better time, leaving them to go on ahead without him.

'I sent Tranah into the crypts ahead of us,' Vander said at last, breaking the silence. 'Her tomb is next to Strein's. I think she'd like that.'

'How did she die?' said Morzan. 'I couldn't help but wonder…'

'She hanged herself,' Vander said quietly. 'I was there when it happened. Visiting the city. When someone came to me and told me she'd locked herself in her room… I came running, but she'd used magic, and by the time I figured out the counter-spell it was already too late. She left a note, but it was for the King's eyes only. I brought it with me.'

'Can we see it, Sire?' said Tuomas.

Galbatorix sighed and reached into the pocket of his robe. 'I haven't looked at it yet. I thought I should wait until you were all here.' He brought out the letter and placed it on the table, pushing the bowl of strawberries aside. The parchment looked yellowed and fragile in his hands, and he broke the wax seal with his thumbnail and unfolded it, straightening out the creases before he began to read it. 'It says… "To My Lord Galbatorix, and to my friends. I am very sorry to have done this to you all, and if there were any way for me to repay you, I would do so. Unfortunately, there were no other options open to me. I have taken what I believed was the best course of action, and excused myself from your lives. Teirm is rebuilt and the people are prosperous, and I think I have done all I could for them. Enough that they can carry on without me. I hope that my absence won't be too great of a burden to you all, but I think I have done enough. I had no wish to see my hundred and fiftieth year, and Aedua and I agreed that it was time for us to take our rest. Perhaps, if the gods are merciful, we shall be reunited some day. Until then, goodbye and good luck".'

Silence followed.

'Is that all of it, Sire?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix nodded and pushed the note across the table for him to take. 'So it would seem.'

Morzan picked up the note and examined it. The handwriting was astonishingly neat and precise. There were no ink blots, no tear-stains… nothing to imply that the woman whose words these were was going to take her own life within hours of writing it.

Vander sighed and shook his head. 'That's Tranah for you, I suppose. Sensible and organised right to the end. She left two whole books full of information about Teirm, and advice on how to run it. She'd been working on it for years. All ready for whoever took over from her.'

'I think she planned it for a long time,' said Tuomas. 'Killing herself, I mean.' He shivered. 'I can't imagine that. Just… living all those years, waiting for the right time.'

'It had to be better than waiting for the bloody Varden to murder you,' Morzan muttered.

'Yes, and the sooner we find this leader of theirs the better,' said Vander. 'Sire… are we any closer to doing that?'

'Not really,' said Galbatorix. 'But I doubt the Varden will be much of a serious threat any more. As long as we're cautious we should be all right. Ana was careless, and Orwyne was old. If the rest of us are careful to keep ourselves well-guarded, we should be fine. As for this leader, I'm not even sure he exists. But if he does… well, we'll flush him out eventually.'

'I caught a few of the bastards hiding out in Gil'ead,' said Morzan. 'Interrogated 'em, but they wouldn't give anything away about this leader of theirs. My bet is he's just a myth. Something to make 'em think they've got some amazing fighter on their side when they're just a lot of peasants with big ideas.'

'There's been no Varden activity in Feinster or Kuasta,' said Vander. 'Nothing on the Surdan border, either.'

'Good,' said Galbatorix. 'And Dras-Leona?'

Tuomas scratched at his beard. 'Everything's quiet. The priesthood have declared me protected by the Three Peaks, so anyone who attacks me is a blasphemer. If anyone even mentioned it, he'd be turned in by someone. It looks like we caught them all, Sire.'

'Rumours say there is a Varden cell somewhere in Urû'baen, but that looks unlikely to me,' said Galbatorix. 'I've had plenty of people on the lookout, and there hasn't been so much as a sign. No positive word, either – just vague gossip. No, the Varden's finished.'

'All to the good, Sire,' said Tuomas. 'Though I would've liked to know who started it.'

'Probably just a handful of lunatics,' Morzan said dismissively. 'Forget it. We've got other things to worry about. Like the elves. I'd swear they were up to something. I mean, they _looked_ pretty peaceful last time I went to Ellesméra, and Islanzadí said everything was just business as usual. I got her to say it in the ancient language, but I still didn't believe her. There's something shifty about that lot. They lie with their eyes.'

Galbatorix looked disgusted. 'They'll stay in their forest if they've got any sense. But I'd be glad to have an excuse to rid the country of them altogether.'

'Yes, and I'm sure they know that, Sire,' said Vander. 'And I very much doubt they would want to risk giving you that excuse.'

'Quite. And the dwarves couldn't care less either way, apparently. So…' Galbatorix looked enquiringly over the table. 'Does anyone else have any news?'

They glanced at each other, but no-one offered anything.

'All right then,' said Galbatorix. 'We should go and pay our respects to Tranah.'

'Yes, Sire,' said Morzan. 'I'll just go and put on something a bit more formal, if you don't mind waiting.'

'Not at all. Ask one of the servants to show you to your room. I'll be waiting here.'

Morzan nodded politely and left. Tuomas left too, leaving Galbatorix and Vander alone.

Once they had gone, Galbatorix turned to Vander. 'All right, Vander. Out with it.'

'I beg your pardon, Sire?'

'Don't play stupid,' Galbatorix said impatiently. 'You've got something to tell me. I could see you thinking about it for the last hour.'

Vander caved in. 'You're right, Sire. I did have something I wanted to discuss with you. But this probably isn't the right time…'

'We're both here and we've got time. Get on with it.'

'Sire…' Vander hesitated. 'Sire, it's time you chose a Queen.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'Not this again.'

'I'm sorry, Sire, but it's my duty to give advice when I think it's necessary, and it is. You need to marry.'

'And why would that be, Vander?' said Galbatorix, who already knew the answer.

'Every King needs a Queen,' said Vander. 'You shouldn't rule alone, Sire. There are plenty of young noblewomen in the Empire who would be suitable.'

'No, Vander,' Galbatorix said flatly. 'We've been over this before, and the answer hasn't changed. I am not going to marry, and there's no way you're going to change my mind about it.'

'Sire, you can't let this promise of yours get in the way of your duties as a ruler,' said Vander. 'You need to marry for political reasons, nothing more. Matters of the heart must take second place to the needs of your people. You need to have an heir.'

Galbatorix laughed bitterly. 'An heir? Me? To do what? To take over the throne after I die?'

'Yes, Sire. If you died without an heir, there would be chaos. Even civil war.'

'I'm not going anywhere, Vander, and you know it,' said Galbatorix. 'Any heir of mine would age and die while I was still alive. Are you really suggesting I should take a wife and father children so I can watch them all die around me?'

'Even immortals can die, Sire,' said Vander. 'You must be prepared for the worst. And even if it never comes about that we need a new ruler, the right Queen could strengthen the Empire and ensure peace.'

'You have someone in mind. Don't you?'

Vander nodded. 'Princess Eluna of Surda. She is not yet betrothed. If you were to marry her, it would create the perfect alliance between Surda and Alagaësia. It would put an end to all tensions between us, and prevent the Surdans from sheltering rebels.'

Galbatorix sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. 'Yes, I know that. I already thought of it myself. But I'm still not going to do it.'

'Sire, _please,'_ said Vander. 'See sense! It's for the good of the country, it doesn't mean anything. You don't even have to share your bed with her if you don't want to.'

'I sleep in a hammock,' Galbatorix said coldly. 'And it's only big enough for one.'

'But Sire, I really-,'

'That's enough, Vander.' The finality in the King's tone was all the hint Vander needed, and he went quiet.

Galbatorix, unreadable, sipped at his wine. Vander watched him, trying to think of something to say, but he gave up in the end and stared at the tabletop. If the King didn't want to discuss something, then that was the final word on the matter. Eventually he would stop responding, and after that he would become irritated. The subject of his bachelorhood had come up more than once over the years; Orwyne had been the first to mention it, a few years after he had been crowned King. But Galbatorix had flatly turned her down. The Forsworn already knew that it was a touchy subject with him, but that hadn't prevented a string of noble families from introducing their daughters to him in the hopes of forging a bond with the newly-formed royal line. Galbatorix had refused them, one by one, until eventually people stopped asking. It had led to some unpleasant rumours about his sexual preferences, though he apparently didn't care.

Even so, Vander had hoped that by now he might have mellowed a little, and since the mystery woman he claimed to have taken an oath to had failed to reappear, he had thought that perhaps Galbatorix would be more open to persuasion now – especially given the possibility of creating an alliance with Surda, which had caused problems for the Empire several times in the past and could prove a real threat if it turned hostile. Vander, having been made governor of Feinster, a city built very close to the Surdan border, had spent a large portion of the last eighty-odd years fostering good relations with the country, and Galbatorix's stubborn refusal to help him seal the alliance was a greater blow than he was willing to admit.

The two of them waited in uncomfortable silence until Morzan and Tuomas returned, now wearing their ceremonial outfits. Vander had already donned his, and together the four of them left the dining hall and descended into the lower levels of the castle, where the original underground portions of Ilirea still remained. There were dungeons, wine cellars and store-rooms down there, and, tucked away at a respectable distance from all these, was a heavy wooden door. Galbatorix opened it, and led the way down the stairs on the other side. He muttered a spell, and magical light sprang up around him – pure white, and far brighter than any lamp or candle. Guided by it, they went down into the catacombs.

These had been built over a thousand years ago, by the very earliest of the riders, as a place for their kind to be laid to rest. The tunnels, carved into the bedrock beneath the castle, were surprisingly extensive, laid out in no particular order. The tombs themselves were recesses cut into the walls, each one bearing a carved image of its occupant and their dragon. Half of each carving was on the wall above the tomb, and the other half was on the stone slab used to seal it shut. All four of them had tombs waiting for them – they had been carved for them over a hundred years ago, when they had first become riders.

Most of the tombs they passed were already sealed, but Vander saw one that was still open, and he paused to look at it. It was carved with an image of a tall, thin young man – more a boy – standing beside a slender female dragon. The boy's hair was long and curly, his face angular and wearing a faint, knowing smile. Beside him was a name: _Arren Cardockson._ And beside the dragon was _Laela. _

Vander glanced ahead, to where Galbatorix walked, as silent and graceful now as he had been a hundred years earlier. He doubted now that any man living would ever be able to put him into a tomb. Not any more.

Tranah's body was waiting for them beside her tomb. She had been laid on a stretcher and dressed in ceremonial armour – gold inlaid with dark green enamel and studded with emeralds, and beside her was an urn containing the ashes of her dragon, Aedua. Though she had been washed and anointed with scented oil, and Vander had cast a spell over her to preserve her body, nobody had been able to do anything about her face. It was dark and swollen, the eyes and lips swollen, and there was a livid purple and red mark on her neck from the rope. Her short hair, once brown, was now nearly all grey. She had aged far less gracefully than any of her old comrades, even Morzan, whose haggard appearance had shocked Vander.

The four riders grouped themselves around Tranah's body, looking down at it.

'Gods… Tranah,' Morzan muttered.

Tuomas knelt beside her and touched her cold hand. 'I never… I didn't think it would be like this.' His voice was dull with shock.

Galbatorix touched the side of his own neck, apparently without thinking. 'I've… her sword is in the treasury. I thought, perhaps…'

'What, Sire?' said Vander.

'If the green egg ever hatches, then its rider will need a sword,' Galbatorix mumbled, sounding slightly embarrassed.

Morzan snorted. 'Sire, it's not going to happen. Face it. We're…' the contempt in his face suddenly disappeared, and his hands clenched. 'We're the last riders,' he said, his voice breaking. 'You do know that, don't you, Sire? After we die, there'll be no-one left to take our place. We've destroyed ourselves.'

'There could still be hope, Morzan,' said Tuomas.

Morzan shook his head convulsively. 'There ain't,' he said. 'You know there ain't, Tuomas. It's finished. There'll never…' he stared blankly at the gedwëy ignaesia on his palm, and turned away. Vander moved rather hesitantly to comfort him, and Morzan, feeling the other rider's hand on his shoulder, suddenly turned and embraced him. Vander held onto him, nearly crushed by Morzan's brawny arms. To his shock, he realised the other rider was crying.

It was as if a dam had broken. Tuomas, huddled by Tranah's body, started to sob, and all three riders finally let go of their grief, forgetting the natural stoicism that a hundred years of living had brought about in them, and letting their tears fall as they should.

Galbatorix, standing by Tranah's tomb, watched them. He looked down at Tranah's body, then at her carved image over the tomb, and then at his three grieving friends. His fists clenched slightly, but his expression did not change. He watched them cry without moving or speaking, and his eyes remained dry.


	3. Silences

Chapter Three

Silences

Tranah's funeral was a quiet affair. Morzan and Tuomas placed her body into the tomb as carefully as they could, placing the urn beside her, and stood by with Vander as Galbatorix recited the funeral liturgy.

'In life, as in death, let this woman be remembered. Tranah Fenixdaughter, daughter of Fenix and Narth, born in Dras-Leona, let her be remembered for all she was and all she did in life, and let her death be but a final chapter in a glorious book. May she find peace and rest, and may her memory be honoured by friend and foe alike. May none speak ill of her from hereon, for in death all but a man's virtues are forgotten. Courage. Honesty. Integrity. Duty. Justice. Honour. These are the virtues of a rider, and the virtues which Tranah Fenixdaughter, daughter of Fenix, upheld until her dying day. May peace embrace her now that her journey is ended, may her soul be bound for eternity to that of her dragon, Aedua, as it was in life, that the two of them be united in love until the very ending of the world itself. All this I beseech of the great power of life and death which binds us all, in the names of the great men and dragons of the past. Receive our departed Tranah Fenixdaughter, and be the balm to our grief.' The rites were finished, but instead of declaring that it was time for the tomb to be sealed, as tradition dictated, he continued, spreading his hand over the open tomb in a ritual gesture. 'Of earth born and in fire forged, by magic blessed and by cool water soothed, then by a breeze in the night blown away to a land of silver and bright flowers. May the gods receive the soul of Tranah Fenixdaughter of Dras-Leona. May she look down from the stars and may her wisdom embrace us. This we ask in the names of the lost gods, by the sacred light of the moon. From this day forth we shall speak her name only in friendship, and let her misdeeds and mistakes be forgotten. Now let us speak her name.' He bowed his head, and murmured, 'Tranah.'

'Tranah,' said Vander.

'Tranah,' said Morzan.

'Tranah,' said Tuomas. 'My friend.'

Galbatorix raised his head. 'Now let the tomb be sealed,' he intoned.

Morzan glanced at Tuomas, and the two of them lifted the slab into place, fitting it over the tomb's entrance. Galbatorix held out a hand and recited a string of words in the ancient language, and the stone glowed black and then silently melded together, joining the slab to the stone around it and sealing it into place as if the hole had never been there at all.

They stood in silence for a time, looking at the completed carving.

'I suppose that's it, then,' Galbatorix said eventually.

'Sire…' Morzan turned to look at him.

'Yes, Morzan?'

'You'll do the same for me, won't you, Sire?' said Morzan. 'I want you to say those words for me, too. Promise me, Sire.'

'Morzan-,'

'Please, Sire,' said Morzan.

'I will. I promise.'

There was silence again for a time. Morzan, Vander and Tuomas were looking at Galbatorix, as if expecting him to say or do something. He stared at the ground for a few moments, and then looked up. There was not a hint of any emotion in his face. 'Well,' he said at last. 'I should probably… I have things to do.'

He pushed past them and walked away, back the way they had come, his robe swirling.

Morzan, Vander and Tuomas watched him go. None of them spoke, but there was a strange feeling between them – a feeling of both disappointment and relief.

'Should we-?' Tuomas began.

Morzan appeared to rouse himself. 'I think Idün's calling me,' he muttered, and walked off without looking at either of them.

Vander hesitated briefly, and then glanced at Tuomas. 'We should probably go,' he said.

Tuomas looked at the tomb. 'Yeah…' he mumbled, and followed him away toward the upper levels, and the sun.

The four of them ate together in the dining hall that night, but though the food was plentiful and very fine the silence between them all persisted. Tuomas made a few feeble attempts at conversation, but nobody responded properly, and he eventually gave up and ate without looking at any of them. Morzan said nothing, but drank a great deal. Vander picked listlessly at his food and talked about his last visit to Surda, albeit in a lifeless voice which petered out after a while. Galbatorix ate without saying more than two or three words over the hour or so the meal took, his black eyes blank and distant, as if his mind was elsewhere.

Eventually Morzan excused himself and walked off rather unsteadily to his room. Not long afterwards, Vander said; 'Well, I should probably retire as well. I have to get back to Feinster quickly, so I'll depart first thing in the morning if you have no objections, Sire. I'm expecting a message from King Owen soon.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Sleep well.'

'I should leave soon too,' said Tuomas. 'That is, unless you'd prefer it if I stayed a while longer, Sire?'

Galbatorix stood up. 'We all have duties to attend to, Tuomas. There's no sense in dallying here.'

Toumas stood too. 'I see. But I thought that, perhaps…'

'Yes, Tuomas?' there was something new in Galbatorix's tone, Toumas thought. Just a hint of something. He wasn't sure what it was.

'I thought maybe you would need some company for a while, Sire,' he said. ' I mean, after Tranah… it was just a thought. Sire.'

Galbatorix was silent for a time before he answered. 'I'll be fine,' he said at last. 'Go back to Dras-Leona, Tuomas. Don't waste any of your time here.'

Tuomas' hope faded. 'I understand, Sire.'

'Goodnight, then,' said Galbatorix.

Tuomas turned to leave, but as he reached out to open the door he stopped suddenly and turned back. 'It's lonely, you know,' he said. 'In Dras-Leona. I miss Orwyne. And Roland, and Gern and Kaelyn too. Sometimes I miss them so much I want to die.'

Galbatorix said nothing.

'I miss having friends,' Tuomas persisted. 'I'm surrounded by people all the time in the castle, but I still feel alone. I miss having people to talk to.'

'Duty must come before ourselves,' Galbatorix said tonelessly. 'You know that, Tuomas.'

'I do,' said Tuomas. 'But you know who I miss most of all?'

Silence.

'I miss a man I used to know,' said Tuomas. He didn't know where he had found this courage, but the words were spilling out of him now, fuelled by the wine. 'I knew a man once who cared about his friends more than anything else. He risked his own life to save mine more than once. Once he went into a city full of enemies and faced three powerful riders all alone to save the life of one person. That man was my friend, but now I don't know where he is any more.' He looked steadily at Galbatorix. 'And I would give anything to see him again. So if you know where he is, Sire… please tell him his friends want him back.'

'Tuomas-,'

'Goodnight, Sire.' Tuomas turned and left.

Galbatorix watched him go, fighting down a wild urge to run after him. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words died inside him, and all he could do was stand there by the door, all alone, fists clenched. He couldn't bear to look any more, and forced himself to turn away. But he could still see their faces in his mind's eye. He stayed still a few moments longer, and then abruptly walked off, heading towards his own bedchamber. But as he neared it, he turned to the left instead and walked up the short flight of stairs leading up onto the parapet. It was full night, and a crescent moon hung over the city. Since it was peacetime there were only a few guards on duty, comfortably ensconced inside the little shelters built for them. He was alone. Below him the city's lights gleamed yellow and gold, and the gentle murmuring of distant voices drifted up toward the castle. A peaceful night. He stood still, nearly invisible in the gloom. He could feel himself shuddering slightly. _Be strong_, he told himself. _Be strong, damn it! _

But his internal voice was weak and shaky, and even as he made himself breathe deeply he could feel his eyes burning with tears that would not come, would never come, would never leave him alone, even after a hundred years.

Galbatorix lifted his face to the sky, and screamed.

At dawn the next day, Vander, Tuomas and a visibly hung over Morzan ascended to the castle walls to rejoin their dragons. Galbatorix was already there, waiting for them, wearing a thick woollen robe to protect him from the early morning chill. He bid a formal farewell to the three of them in turn before they mounted up and the dragons flew away. Tuomas was the only one who said farewell with any warmth; Morzan was irritable and uncommunicative, and Vander morose.

Galbatorix watched them fly away, knowing full well that he probably wouldn't see them again for a long time. For some of them, perhaps, he would never see them alive again. But he didn't wait to see them vanish into the distance. Once they were clear of the city, he turned and retreated back into the castle. There was work to do. As always.

The rest of that day passed uneventfully enough. Galbatorix took the day's paperwork up to his room and sat at his desk for several hours, reading reports, signing documents and organising the latest trade negotiations with the neighbouring towns. He would have to go to Teirm in a few months, to speak with the new governor – a local noble – and ensure that everything was on the right tracks. After that he broke for lunch, and then it was off to the audience chamber to discuss a few pressing matters with various officials, and issue some commands. Finally, that afternoon, it was time for his weekly haircut. It was self-indulgent, he knew, but if there was one thing he could not stand it was letting his hair get out of hand, and his tended to grow rather fast if he let it. Besides, he liked having a little time to think while the barber saw to his hair, and the manicurist dealt with his fingernails. He sat back in the chair, listening to the steady snip of the scissors, and talked to Shruikan.

'_I was thinking about making another trip into the city tonight.'_

'_Again?' _Shruikan's voice was rough and impatient. _'Why? You're doing that far too often, you know.'_

'_It's necessary. I have to keep in touch with people. Hear the latest rumours. Some things you can't learn from reports.'_

The black dragon snorted. _'How old are you now, Galbatorix?'_

'_A hundred and three, I think. Why do you ask?'_

'_You're a hundred and three years old and you still can't be honest with yourself. You lie to everyone else… why do it to yourself too?'_

'_What do you mean by that, Shruikan?'_

'_You don't go into the city just to listen to rumours, and you know it,'_ said Shruikan. _'So just admit it.'_

'_I can't let myself be cut off from my people,'_ Galbatorix retorted. _'If I got out of touch with them… what I do affects all their lives. The least I can do is take the time to listen to what they have to say.'_

'_And what _do_ they have to say, Sire?'_ Shruikan's voice was laden with bitter sarcasm. _'As I recall, last night it was something about being ruled by the Mad King.'_

Galbatorix winced. _'People talk. It doesn't mean anything.'_

'_But you'll listen to it anyway. Listen to yourself, Galbatorix. You're being pathetic.'_

'_Oh? Am I? And what do you suggest I do instead?'_

'_I suggest you get a hold of yourself and stop trying to make friends with people who hate you.'_

Galbatorix gripped the arms of his chair. _'So that would be everybody in the Empire, would it?'_

'_You had three friends here this morning, Galbatorix. And you let them leave.'_

'_They're not-,'_

'_They were waiting for you, you fool. I could nearly smell it on them. But you turned your back on them.'_

'_I had to. Shruikan, I can't let my own feelings get in the way. Not now. The Empire comes first. Duty…'_

'_And yet you still refuse to take a Queen.'_

'_That's different,'_ Galbatorix said sharply. _'I made a promise.'_

'_So? You've broken every other promise you ever made.'_

'_It's not the same, Shruikan. I may be the Great Betrayer, but I will not betray my own heart. It's the last promise I have left, and this one I'll keep.'_

'_No you won't,'_ said Shruikan. _'I know you won't. You haven't changed. Sooner or later you'll break your promise. That's the way you are. There's nothing you won't sacrifice if you think it's necessary.'_

'_Shruikan, if you're even thinking of trying to imply that I'd-,'_

'_I don't have to. You've already done it. You did it a hundred years ago. You and I were ready to leave the country and look for her. We both wanted to go. But you decided to stay here. You turned your back on Skade the moment you put the crown on your head. Now you're trying to cling to the idea that you're still loyal to her by risking war with Surda.'_

'_Shruikan, what are you trying to do?'_

'_I'm trying to protect you, Galbatorix,'_ said Shruikan. _'It hurts me to see you suffering like this. You deserve better than to spend your life alone. For the gods' sakes, do something before you end up spending the rest of your life imprisoned here. Or before you lose what you fought a war to protect. I don't want to see you lose the Empire, and I don't want to lose you. But I'm afraid that if you go on like this, you'll come to the same end Tranah did. And I can't bear the thought of it. Please, Galbatorix. Do something. Before it's too late for you.'_

'_I've got you,'_ said Galbatorix.

'_I'm a dragon. You're a human. You need other humans.'_

Galbatorix was silent for a long time. He didn't speak again until the barber announced that he was finished, and the manicurist departed, and he had stood up and shaken the loose hairs off his robe. As he left, making for the dining hall, he finally spoke. _'I think… I think I'll stay here tonight. And maybe tomorrow I'll write to the others. Just to… just to make sure they're all right.'_

'_Good,'_ said Shruikan.

That night, once he had eaten, Galbatorix retired to his room. He put on his nightshirt and brushed and combed his hair, washed his mouth out with salt to protect his teeth from decaying, and climbed into his hammock. The night was warm, but he pulled a simple woollen blanket over himself and settled down in the darkness. He wondered, with a hint of wry amusement, what Lando or Robb would have said if they knew the King they disliked so much slept in a hammock. The fact that he had chosen to live in a small room like this, directly underneath the dragon roost, rather than in the large bedroom originally built for him, had already caused a few raised eyebrows here and there. Not that he cared. He had tried sleeping in the master bedroom for a few nights, but had hated it. He couldn't get comfortable in a proper bed, and the size of the room had made him feel lost. Here, in the tower, though, he felt at home, knowing Shruikan was nearby, and able to escape from the grandeur of the rest of the castle into a place that felt like it really belonged to him. He had only ever felt like a visitor to the rest of the castle, even after so long, and perhaps, after all, most Kings were only ever temporary occupants of their castles. Mortal ones, at least. But he didn't believe he would truly live forever. Tranah's death was a stark reminder of the fact that even riders could die. His time would come.

With that thought in mind, he fell asleep.

And he dreamed.

He saw a mountain with three peaks, huge and awe-inspiring, looming above him. They were burning with blue flames. In their shadow, two dragons fought each other – one yellow, and one blue. The blue dragon had hold of the back of the yellow dragon's neck and was shaking it savagely. He saw the Forsworn, all twelve of them standing in a ring and shouting his name. Tuomas was standing there among them, holding a bloodied dagger. _If you see him, tell him to come back for us,_ he said.

A roar came from nowhere, and all of a sudden the blue dragon was there. Her jaws snapped shut around Tuomas' body, killing him instantly, and when the deed was done she turned and looked at Galbatorix, her eyes two blank sockets in her face. _There is no escape,_ she told him softly._ The curse is you. _Then she was gone, leaving Tuomas' body lying where it had fallen.

The three peaks broke apart over his head, sending huge chunks of rock thudding to the ground. But not one of them touched him. They landed on the landscape all about, crushing the Forsworn, and as their screams sounded in his ears he found himself falling, down and down, into darkness, his last cry swallowed up by the void.

He hit the ground with a thump that knocked all the breath from his lungs, and then-

Galbatorix woke up with a start. For a moment he nearly panicked, unable to remember where he was, still caught up in the grip of the dream. Shruikan's voice shouted in his head. _'Galbatorix! Galbatorix! Wake up!'_

Galbatorix lay still. _'Shruikan? What happened?'_

'_You were having a bad dream,'_ said Shruikan. _'I think you fell out of your hammock. I felt a thump.'_

Galbatorix sat up. Sure enough, he was on the floor. When he summoned up a magical light, he saw his hammock still swinging gently, the blanket hanging over the side. He got up, rubbing his back, his heart still pounding. What had he been dreaming about?

The memory rushed back almost instantly. Tuomas. The blue and yellow dragons. The three peaks. All these images flashed across his brain, and a strange feeling of fear and urgency came over him. _'Tuomas is in trouble.'_

'_What? How do you know?'_

'_I just do. We have to go to him.'_

'_Now?'_

Galbatorix pulled himself together. _'In the morning.'_

'_It's nearly dawn now,'_ said Shruikan.

Galbatorix almost ran to the cupboard. He threw it open and pulled out a robe and a pair of trousers at random. He struggled into them as fast as he could, carelessly tossing his nightshirt onto the floor. As soon as he had finished lacing up his boots, he opened the bottom drawer of the cupboard and rummaged around until he unearthed a scabbard. It was made of worn, scarred leather and had a pair of straps dangling from it. He slung it on his back, fastening the straps around his chest, closed the cupboard and strode toward his desk. White Violence looked almost ghostly in the gloom, as he lifted it down from its hooks. He grasped it by the hilt and swung it experimentally, testing the balance. It felt as natural in his hands now as it had done eighty years ago, on the night he had used it to kill Vrael and end the war. He smiled a small, triumphant smile, and thrust it into the scabbard, the hilt protruding over his shoulder. This done, he combed his hair with lightning speed, stuffed a few odds and ends into his pockets and exited the bedroom, magically locking it behind him.

In spite of the hour there were already servants up and about in the castle, and they looked at him in surprise as he passed. He found two who didn't look particularly busy, and said; 'You and you… go to the storeroom at the West End and fetch Shruikan's saddle. Take it up onto the roost and leave it there.'

'Yes, Sire.' They hurried off.

Galbatorix moved on through the castle's living quarters until he reached a finely-carved door, which he thumped on. Receiving no immediate response, he kicked it. There was a scuffling from the other side, and it opened. A middle-aged man appeared, looking thoroughly irritated. 'All right, what in the hell's – Sire!'

'Good morning, Walden. I hope I didn't wake you.'

Walden, who was still wearing his nightshirt, made an embarrassed attempt to hide behind the door. 'I really am terribly sorry, Sire, but I didn't expect – what can I do for you?'

'I'm going to Dras-Leona,' said Galbatorix. 'I want you to look after things while I'm gone.'

'What, now, Sire?' said Walden.

'Yes. Immediately. I'm just about to go up to the dragon roost. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but if anything comes up just send a bird to Dras-Leona. Understood?'

'Yes, Sire. But… so suddenly? Has something happened, if I may ask, Sire?'

Galbatorix paused. 'I have something important to discuss with Lord Tuomas.'

'I see. Well… I wish you a safe trip, Sire.'

'Thankyou.' Galbatorix left, heading for the stairs leading back to his bedroom. The ladder leading up to the dragon roost was just outside it, and he climbed it and pushed open the trapdoor, blinking in the light. The sun was rising, and the sky over the city was pale blue-grey – almost white. Shruikan was ready for him, one forepaw resting on the saddle the servants had brought up. _'Galbatorix, what in the world are you doing?'_

Galbatorix climbed through the trapdoor and closed it behind him. _'Leaving to go on an official visit, of course. Could I have the saddle, please?'_

Shruikan removed his paw. _'This is madness. You can't just rush off like this.'_

'_Oh? And who's going to stop me?'_ Galbatorix picked up the saddle.

Shruikan crouched low, and waited patiently as Galbatorix slung the saddle over his shoulders and expertly strapped it into place, fastening it around his belly, neck and forelegs. _'But why are we going to Dras-Leona at all?'_

'_Because Tuomas needs my help. I can feel it.'_

'_Are you sure?'_

Galbatorix tightened the last strap. _'Yes,'_ he said, and climbed into the saddle.

Shruikan held still as Galbatorix secured himself in place. _'It's been a long time since you've had one of your "feelings". Are you sure you can still recognise it?'_

'_It wasn't just a feeling this time. It was a dream. Didn't you see it too?'_

'_No. I was awake. And you block your mind when you're sleeping. Even I can't get in. What did you see?'_

'_I saw Tuomas, and Ithír as well. They were being attacked by a dragon. A blue one. And I saw it kill Tuomas. I don't know the whole meaning, but when I woke up I knew I had to go to them.'_

'_Then we'll go,'_ said Shruikan. He stepped to the edge of the roost and paused there a moment, his big lithe body poised, looking down at the city. Galbatorix felt the dragon's muscles tense underneath him, and then he leapt toward the city, his claws scoring deep grooves in the stonework. For one heart-stopping moment the two of them were falling, but then Shruikan's wings opened, and he shot straight upward with a loud _thump_ of air. He rose into the sky, now turning pale pink with the dawn, and Galbatorix held on tightly as the black dragon levelled out and began to fly Westwards. The wind tugged at his hair and pulled his robe away from his back, making it flap in the wind like a banner, and he suddenly realised how much he had missed flying. He could feel a pair of phantom wings on his own shoulders, beating steadily in time with Shruikan's, feel the dragon's calm confidence and control moving through his own body, the heat of his fire burning in his throat, and felt more alive than he had done in months.

Shruikan could sense it too. _'Shall we chase the wind, little human?'_ he asked, sounding almost mischievous.

'_I don't know,'_ said Galbatorix. _'D'you think you could catch it?'_

'_Nothing escapes from Shruikan,'_ the black dragon boasted. _'I'll show you what I mean.'_

He surged forward.


	4. Beneath the Three Peaks

Chapter Four

Beneath The Three Peaks

It took two days for Galbatorix and Shruikan to reach Dras-Leona. Rather than find a village to shelter in that night, the two of them made camp in the wilderness, just as they had once done, years ago, when they had lived their lives as fugitives. Galbatorix lit a black fire and roasted a pheasant over it for dinner. And, though it ended up burnt and stringy, it tasted delicious. He gave the bones to Shruikan to crunch, and sat back against the dragon's flank, resting his head on his arms and staring up at the stars. _'Gods… I didn't realise how much I missed this.'_

'_You missed eating burnt food and sleeping on the ground?'_ said Shruikan, but he sounded amused.

Galbatorix raised his head. _'Yes,'_ he said frankly. _'I did. It's so _stifling,_ living in the castle. Surrounded by people all the time, hardly a moment to yourself… I felt like a prisoner.'_

Shruikan sighed deeply, but didn't speak.

Galbatorix reached into his robe and brought out a thin silver circlet set with a pale blue stone. It was the crown that had once belonged to Queen Saethryn of the dark elves – the one he had salvaged from the massacre that had destroyed her and the last of her race, and the same one that had been placed on his head that day in Ilirea, when he had been crowned King. It was a dark elvish _torix_ – nearly as rare and valuable as a dragon's egg, but he rarely wore it except on official occasions. He turned it over in his hands, watching the starlight gleam on its polished surface. The runes engraved in it stood out blackly – dark elvish runes that no-one but himself could read. _For the greatest of all servants. _

He put it on, absently flicking a few stray curls into place with his fingertips. It fitted perfectly, as it always had done.

'_I missed it as well, you know,'_ Shruikan said unexpectedly.

'_Missed what?'_

'_This. Being out here with you, away from people. I felt…'_ he trailed off.

'_What is it, Shruikan?'_

Shruikan lifted his head and looked at him, his fierce golden eyes a little sad. _'I felt closer to you then than I did in Urû'baen. When you were still the Riders' Bane. Those days and nights we spent, hiding in places like this… that was when you and I were in harmony. You were alive then in a way you never were again.'_

'_So were you. City life doesn't suit you, and I wish I didn't have to subject you to it.'_

Shruikan sighed and rustled a wing. _'I'm sorry for what I said to you yesterday. It was cruel.'_

'_It's all right, Shruikan. You were only trying to help me.'_

'_No. I was trying to hurt you. I see that now. I was frustrated. I'm too hard on you.'_

Galbatorix paused. It wasn't like Shruikan to apologise. _'It's all right,'_ he said eventually. _'I understand.'_

Shruikan nudged him gently with his snout. _'I know I'm not Laela. But you and I have been together for a long time now, and… I want you to know that I never regretted bonding myself to you. Never.'_

Galbatorix put his hand on the dragon's snout, feeling the warm scales against his skin. _'I'm glad you're with me Shruikan. I always was. And I always will be. No matter what happens.'_

When Dras-Leona came in sight, the first thing Galbatorix saw was the dragon roost up at the castle. It was unoccupied. Shruikan came down to land on it, and Galbatorix slid off his back. They had seen him coming; before he had even finished straightening his robe the trapdoor opened and half a dozen people emerged. They bowed low to him, and the foremost of them – a portly young man whose fine clothes proclaimed him to be a noble – came forward. 'Sire! Welcome to Dras-Leona. This is an honour.'

Galbatorix inclined his head slightly. 'Lord Aisling.'

Lord Aisling looked hesitant. 'Sire,' he said in a rush. 'Forgive my boldness, but I have to ask. How did you know?'

Galbatorix blinked. 'I beg your pardon?'

'I was just in the process of writing a letter to you, Sire,' Aisling explained. 'To ask you to come here. You arrived when I had barely picked up my quill, and I cannot help but-,'

Galbatorix waved him into silence. 'We can talk later. I've come to see Lord Tuomas. Where is he?'

'He… he's in the Cathedral, Sire,' said Lord Aisling. 'But it's… we only just found him, Sire. Ithír is with him.'

Apprehension stabbed into Galbatorix's chest. Without waiting to hear another word, he turned and hauled himself back onto Shruikan's back. Shruikan practically hurled himself off the dragon-roost, forcing Aisling and the others there to throw themselves flat to avoid being knocked over. The black dragon swooped out over the city, flying so low his trailing talons demolished the chimney of one of the larger buildings, and made a clumsy, skidding landing in the square outside the Cathedral of the Three Peaks. Galbatorix half-jumped, half-fell out of the saddle, and ran toward the building, drawing his sword as he went.

There was a crowd of people around the cathedral, held back by a row of guards. Behind them were the huge doors of the cathedral… or the remains of them. They had been shattered into pieces, along with part of their frame, as if someone had broken them down with a battering ram. The guards, seeing Galbatorix coming, at first moved to stop him, but they quickly recognised him and moved aside to let him through. He ran straight past them and up the steps, sword in hand, and nearly hurled himself through the gaping hole and into the cathedral. And there, he stopped dead.

The cathedral's interior was gloomy, the only light filtered in through its large stained glass windows, which bore images of battle and slaughter – a metaphor for the eternal clash of good and evil.

Ithír was there, lying collapsed over the rows of broken pews, her head still stretched out toward the altar. As Galbatorix passed, she moved slightly and one yellow eye turned to watch him. He walked on past her, following the line of her snout.

The altar, where the high priests of the cathedral would perform their rituals every day, was a great stone block decorated with carvings of mountains. On the wall behind it, looking down on the worshippers who would come to stand there, was an effigy of a middle-aged man. He had a shaggy beard and held a sword in his left hand, but his face, round and snub-nosed, stared down on the altar with a benevolent expression. Beside him was an image of Tuomas as he had been in his youth, smiling serenely from beside his mentor. Its stone eyes were fixed on what lay below it, half-collapsed over the altar.

Tuomas had evidently been standing in front of the altar when he had fallen. One arm was flung over it, as if for support, and the other was folded beneath him. His sword lay on the floor a short distance away, and his tunic was stained with blood.

Galbatorix reached out to touch his shoulder. It was cold. He hesitated a moment, then laid White Violence down on the altar and lifted Tuomas away from it, laying him down on the floor. Tuomas fell limply, his head lolling. The front of his tunic was stained with more blood, and when Galbatorix peeled it away from the skin he found at least two unmistakeable sword-cuts.

He sat very still for a few moments, and then gently reached out and closed Tuomas' eyes.

'_Galbatorix, what can you see?'_ Shruikan's voice called.

Galbatorix stood up. _'Tuomas is dead.'_

Shruikan shared a feeling of dismay. _'Are you sure?'_

Galbatorix picked up White Violence. For a moment he stood still, looking down at Tuomas' body, and then he let out a primal roar of fury and swung his sword with all his might, bringing it down on the altar. It left a deep cut in the stone and sent pain reverberating through his hands, and he dropped it and swore. _'Cau Dy wyneb a Ffwcio dy ewyrth!' _

A noise came from behind him, and he turned sharply. Ithír was trying to get up, her claws sliding out from under her, eyes fixed on him. He ran to her. _'Ithír, lie still.'_

The yellow dragon's mental voice was weak. _'Sire…'_

Galbatorix crouched by her, touching her head. _'Ithír… Ithír, I'm sorry. I came too late.'_

Ithír sighed deeply and let her head drop.

'_Ithír, who did this? I have to know. Who did it? Did you see them?'_

For a few moments Ithír didn't move. And then she sent him a mental image. It was weak and wavering, tinged with grey, but it showed a group of at least four people. They were near to the altar, their faces covered, all shrouded and anonymous. But as one of them lunged forward, sword raised, Galbatorix saw an ear poking through the fabric. A pointed ear. His fists clenched. _'Elf.'_

Ithír's eyes stared into his. _'Kill me,'_ she said softly.

Galbatorix touched her forehead. _'Ithír…'_

'_Kill me. Please.'_

There was a scraping of stone from the doorway and Shruikan appeared. He came to Ithír's side and nuzzled at the nape of her neck, crooning deep in his throat. She turned her head toward him briefly, and whimpered softly.

Shruikan looked up at Galbatorix. _'Do it,'_ he said. _'Don't let her suffer.'_

Galbatorix strode to the altar and picked up White Violence. Ithír stared blankly at the sword and then closed her eyes. _'I am sorry,'_ she whispered.

Galbatorix raised the sword over her neck. Just for a second, as he stood there, looking down at her, a vision flashed across his brain. Snow, white snow and white scales, all stained with blood, frozen tears and blood in the snow.

He gritted his teeth and brought the sword down.

Ithír jerked once and died, her blood pooling on the floor beneath her. Shruikan stood still beside her, head bowed, then abruptly turned and left the cathedral, his tail dragging.

Galbatorix stayed where he was, still holding the bloodied sword. As if in a dream, he watched the people hurrying in toward him, their faces full of fear and worry. They surrounded him, keeping a respectful distance, all watching him. Lord Aisling was among them.

'Sire…' he began timidly. 'I…'

Galbatorix looked blankly at him. 'Yes, Lord Aisling?'

Aisling stared at the ground. 'Sire, I would… I have been asked to request that Lord Tuomas be entombed here in the Cathedral. I am aware that it is against tradition, but it was always his Lordship's request that he be laid to rest here, in the sight of the Three Peaks.'

Galbatorix realised that there was blood on White Violence's blade. He took a scrap of cloth from his pocket and began to wipe it clean. 'If that is what Lord Tuomas wanted, then so be it. I will stay here and conduct the rites due to a rider. Afterwards, the priesthood may do as they please.'

'Thankyou, Sire,' said Aisling. 'I… Lord Tuomas' loss is a great blow to us, Sire. He was a great and worthy man, and I was honoured to live under his rule. The people will mourn him deeply.'

Galbatorix put White Violence back into its sheath. 'I understand. And I will see to it that those responsible for his death will suffer for it.'

'Those… responsible, Sire? You mean this was murder?'

'Yes, Lord Aisling,' Galbatorix said impatiently. 'I meant murder. Lord Tuomas didn't stab himself in the back. There are traitors in the city. At least four of them. I will see to it personally that they are uncovered, and I will destroy them.'

'I will do everything in my power to help you, Sire,' said Aisling.

Galbatorix, watching him, sighed internally. The man was the spitting image of his great-grandfather, whom he had met during his youth. _That_ Lord Aisling had been remarkably similar to this one in personality as well, and Galbatorix sincerely doubted either of them could have done anything even remotely helpful when it came to capturing assassins. Still, it gave him a twinge of malicious pleasure to recall how the old Lord Aisling had died; he had personally kicked him off the top of the dragon roost, and had rather enjoyed watching him fall to his death. Of course, that was all in the past. Not that he wouldn't have enjoyed seeing his grandson fall off a tower as well.

'Thankyou, Lord Aisling,' he said. 'Your assistance will no doubt prove invaluable.' He wondered if Aisling had noticed any sarcasm in his tone. 'Now, about Lord Tuomas' burial. Is there a tomb ready for him?'

'Yes, Sire,' said Aisling. 'He had one built for himself in the vaults beneath the Cathedral some years ago.'

'Good. Send for a herbalist. The body has to be prepared. I'll deal with the dragon.'

'Yes, Sire.' Aisling left.

Galbatorix turned to the nearest guard. 'You – come here, please.'

The guard was quick to respond, along with several of his colleagues.

'Get these people out of here,' Galbatorix told them. 'They can come back later for the funeral rites. For now, I want everyone out of the Cathedral unless they're needed.'

'Yes, Sire.' The guards hurried off, and he waited until they had shooed everyone out of the building. Once they had gone, he ordered the guards to post themselves in the doorway, and turned rather wearily to look at Ithír. Her body would be nigh on impossible to drag outside without damaging the building further, even with Shruikan's help, and there would be little point in it anyway. He spread his right hand over the yellow dragon, paused for a moment to remember the words, and then muttered a string of dark elvish words. Magic, black as Shruikan's scales, leapt from his palm and enveloped Ithír, spreading over her body which, almost instantly, burst into flames. They were black flames, with a core of ghostly silver, and though the heat they gave off was fierce they did not touch the stone or the shattered wood beneath Ithír's body. They burned quickly, hiding her from view even as they consumed her. Galbatorix stood rooted to the spot, feeding it with his energy, ignoring the tiredness that began to dull his senses.

When the fire finally burnt itself out it left behind a surprisingly small heap of fine black ashes, but it had also left a foul stench of burnt flesh in the air. Galbatorix wrinkled his nose; he hadn't anticipated this. He had performed this spell plenty of times, but generally in the open air, and the smell would probably linger in the cathedral for some time. He sighed and called to one of the people who had remained behind – a brown-clad man who looked to be one of the cathedral's three High Priests. The man came, accompanied by two others, similarly clad. Definitely the High Priests, Galbatorix decided. He hadn't visited the cathedral in decades.

'Yes, Sire? How may we serve you?'

Galbatorix pointed at the heap of ashes. 'These need to be gathered up. Do you have any urns here?'

'Yes, Sire. I will send someone to fetch them.' The priest who had spoken hurried off.

'Someone needs to prepare Lord Tuomas' tomb,' Galbatorix went on. 'I will send to the castle for some armour for him, and a herbalist should be here shortly for the anointing. This evening, I will perform the funeral rites.'

The two remaining High Priests glanced at each other. 'You need not put yourself to the inconvenience, Sire,' one said. 'We can attend to it ourselves.'

'"Inconvenience"?' Galbatorix repeated, unable to stop himself from sounding incredulous.

'Yes, Sire. It is part of our duties to conduct the rituals for the dead. Lord Tuomas would have wished-,'

'Lord Tuomas was my friend,' Galbatorix interrupted. 'And he was a rider. It is part of _my_ duties to see him honoured as a rider must be. I have given permission for him to be buried here rather than in Urû'baen, but the proper words must be said for him.'

The priests looked unhappy. 'That would… be unwise, Sire,' one said.

Galbatorix's eyes narrowed slightly. 'Are you presuming to tell me what to do, by any chance?'

'You may be King of the mortal realm, Sire, but the realm of the spirit is our dominion alone,' the priest said, showing no sign of embarrassment. 'Here, all that is takes place under our command.'

'Is that so? Well, I beg your pardon, Anointed One. You will have to excuse me; I am not as knowledgeable about the faith of the Three Peaks as I would like to be. If you will allow me, I will say the rider's words for Lord Tuomas and then allow you to do as you will. Is that acceptable?'

The priest nodded. 'Is is acceptable, Sire. Lord Tuomas will be honoured according to his faith in life, and the faithful alone will come to witness his burial.'

Galbatorix paused, not quite sure of what he had just heard. 'You would prefer to have the, uh, faithful be the only witnesses?'

'That is our way, Sire,' said the priest, without the slightest hint of apology in his voice.

'Very well then,' said Galbatorix. 'I will go back to the castle. When Lord Tuomas' body has been prepared, send for me.'

'As you wish, Sire.'

Galbatorix picked up Tuomas' sword from the floor before he exited the Cathedral, not caring a whit for what the priests would think. He was fighting down an urge to turn back and kick the two self-righteous old men in the groin. _That_ would knock the arrogance out of them.

'_Gods damn them!' _he raged privately, to Shruikan. _'Who the hell do they think they are?'_

'_What's happened?'_ said Shruikan.

'_It's those cursed priests. They let Tuomas be killed, right there in the middle of their own damned Cathedral, and then they have the gall to tell me that I don't get a say in how one of my oldest friends is buried. I'd already _given_ them permission to bury him in the Cathedral and say their own rites. The only thing I asked for was the right to say the proper words a rider should have, and then they decide to cut me out of the proceedings altogether as if having me there would be some kind of an insult to them! Just because I'm not a Peaker! Roland wasn't like that, and Tuomas wasn't either. How the hell did he let them end up like that? They were ordering me around! Me, for the gods' sakes! If I didn't know better, I'd say they had something to do with this.'_

Shruikan growled. _'They seem to have forgotten that you were the one who gave them back their right to worship at all.'_

'_Of course. Since when did anyone ever thank me for anything I did? I gave them the funds to build that monstrosity of a Cathedral, and now they don't even want me inside it.'_

'_You shouldn't have let them speak to you like that,'_ said Shruikan, once Galbatorix had shared the memory of the encounter with him.

'_I would have liked to, but it wasn't worth it,'_ said Galbatorix. _'If I insulted the High Priests, it would be tantamount to insulting every believer in the city.'_

'_Yes, but you don't have to be polite to the point that you'll let them treat you like that. You're the King.'_

'_Yes, well, we'll see how cocky they are when I take them out of that little miniature Empire of theirs. I have to question the entire priesthood to find out if any of them saw anything, and I'm damned if I'm going to do it inside the Cathedral. They can come to me. Whether they like it or not.'_

Shruikan snickered. _'That should be amusing.'_

The memory of Tuomas' dead body came back into Galbatorix's mind at this point, and he walked on toward the castle, grim-faced, ignoring the people crowding around to look at him. Shruikan was up on the dragon roost, and the castle doors were quickly thrown open to let Galbatorix in. To his dismay, Lord Aisling was there to greet him. 'Welcome to the castle, Sire. The master bedroom is being prepared for you as we speak, and if you would care to join myself and the Lords-,'

'I need to use Lord Tuomas' office,' Galbatorix interrupted. 'I have some letters to write.'

'At once, Sire. You-,' the portly nobleman grabbed the nearest servant. 'Show the King to Lord Tuomas' office, and be quick about it.'

'When you're ready, Sire,' said the servant, not daring to look him in the eye.

Galbatorix nodded briefly to Lord Aisling, and then turned away, glancing at the servant, who took the hint and led him to the Northernmost of the castle's towers. There, he unlocked a door and opened it for him. 'Lord Tuomas' office, Sire. Just as he left it.'

Galbatorix entered, closing the door behind him. The office, which contained nothing more spectacular than a large desk, some shelves full of books and a number of chairs, was clean and neat. Papers were stacked on the desk, along with a row of new quills and some bottles of ink, and there was a cage hanging just outside the window, containing a number of large and noisy ravens. There were a pair of half-melted candles and an empty goblet on the desk too, as if the office's occupant had just stepped out for a moment and would be back soon.

Galbatorix sighed and sat down at the desk. He selected a piece of specially-treated paper and uncorked a bottle of fine black ink and dipped a quill into it. For a moment he paused, the quill still in the ink, and then he withdrew it and carefully tapped the point against the rim of the bottle to remove the excess ink before he began to write.

_To my Lord Morzan,_

_I am writing to you from Dras-Leona. Something dire has happened. Tuomas is dead. He was assassinated in the Cathedral some time this morning. The culprits have not yet been caught, but I have reason to suspect that the elves may know something about it. Please come to Dras-Leona as soon as possible. I need your help._

_Galbatorix_

He put the quill aside and read over the letter several times, wondering if he had been too blunt about it. But, he thought, there really wasn't any realistic way to impart news like this gently. Morzan would understand. It wasn't until he had folded the letter and sealed it that he realised he had signed his name without including any of his titles. He shrugged and reached for another piece of paper.

_To my Lord Vander,_

_I have bad news from Dras-Leona. Tuomas has been assassinated. His body was found in the Cathedral. So far I don't know who was responsible, but I suspect the elves were involved in some way. I am planning to visit Ellesméra in person to question Queen Islanzadí, as soon as I have conducted an investigation here. Tuomas is going to be entombed in the Cathedral by the priesthood, as per his wishes. I see little point in your coming to Dras-Leona to attend the funeral, since the priests will not allow any nonbelievers into the Cathedral. But if you wish to come here of your own accord, do so. I would be glad of your company._

_Galbatorix_

Once the ink had dried, he folded and sealed the letter and carried both of them to the window, where he selected a bird whose leg bore two coloured bands – one red for Dras-Leona, and the other brown for Feinster. The animal perched obediently on his arm as he rolled up the letter and inserted it into the small metal cylinder attached to its leg, and he carried it to the next window along and opened it. The bird hopped off his arm and onto the windowsill, and he nudged it gently to encourage it. It flew away with a heavy, undignified flick of its wings, heading Southwards. Galbatorix selected a second bird, this one trained to fly to Gil'ead, and once he had attached Morzan's letter to its leg and sent it on its way he closed the window and sat down at the desk, staring vacantly at Tuomas' sword. It did not have a yellow blade, as it should have. Tuomas had never officially finished his apprenticeship, having joined the Forsworn while still a junior rider, along with his two friends, Gern and Kaelyn. The three teenagers, their dragons still only a few months old and too small to ride, had decided to thrown their lot in with Galbatorix and had petitioned him to be their master in place of the elvish elders who had betrayed them. He had completed their training, and they had chosen their swords from those he had collected during the war, taking them with him after he had killed their owners. He couldn't even remember the name of the rider who had once carried Tuomas' sword, or whether they had been male or female. But he or she would almost certainly have been elvish. He had made a point of only killing elvish riders, at least at first.

He touched the blade, testing its edge. A fine weapon, just like every riders' blade. And if things did not change soon, then one day there would be no-one left to wield one.

Coldness spread over Galbatorix's skin. Who would be next? Vander? Morzan? Himself? How long would it take? And how had it come to this? They were the only riders left in the world; the most powerful people anywhere in Alagaësia. They had destroyed an order so powerful that it had held sway for a thousand years and done it so effectively that barely one single person had ever attempted to defy them, and none who had had survived for long. They had attempted something that had seemed impossible to the point of insanity, and yet they had come through it and emerged victorious on the other side.

Victorious, but not intact. No…

Galbatorix bowed his head, gripping the swordblade until it cut into his fingers. He barely felt any pain.

They had won, but they had lost, and now they were dying. One by one, they were suffering the same fate that had befallen the riders they had destroyed all those years ago. And if the three remaining dragon's eggs they had salvaged – the only ones left in the entire country as far as anyone knew – did not hatch, then it would mean the end of everything. No more riders. No more dragons.

As Galbatorix sat there alone, feeling the cold metal and hot blood under his hands, an immense wave of despair washed over him. 'It's my fault,' he whispered. 'It's my…'

And then, quietly, unseen by anyone but the croaking ravens in their cage, the King of Alagaësia began to do something he had not done in nearly a hundred years. He began to cry.


	5. Infiltration

Chapter Five

Infiltration

Galbatorix spent the rest of the day in the castle, waiting for word to come from the Cathedral. It didn't. By sundown his patience had run out and he went to find Lord Aisling. As it happened, the red-faced lord was already looking for him.

'Sire. There you are.'

'What's going on, Lord Aisling?'

Aisling looked thoroughly agitated. 'I… uh… Sire, I assure you that I had absolutely nothing to do with this, and that I was not involved in the slighest, but it would seem…'

Galbatorix fought down an urge to slap him. 'Out with it.'

'It's… the funeral rites for Lord Tuomas have already begun,' said Aisling. 'I just received word.'

Galbatorix froze. _'What?'_

Aisling nodded. 'The faithful have gathered in the Cathedral, and the rites are being performed as we speak, Sire.'

'Why wasn't I informed?'

'I do not know, Sire. I was not informed either, at least until a few moments ago. But half of the servants have left the castle in order to attend.'

Galbatorix's fists clenched. He abruptly turned away and strode off toward the castle gates, moving so fast that Lord Aisling had to run to keep up with him. Galbatorix ignored him. He emerged from the castle into the city streets. They were almost completely deserted, but everyone he passed was going in the same direction.

He reached the square outside the Cathedral, and found it packed with people. They had filled up the building and spilled out onto the steps, but though the noise should have been deafening they were almost completely silent. Their eyes were fixed on the Cathedral. The sun was sinking directly behind it, sillhouetting the jagged shapes of the Three Peaks that overlooked the city, and, in front of them, the Cathedral built to honour them. Its old stones were glowing with dark, fiery orange light thrown onto it by the sun, and in the sky overhead the evening star had appeared. It was a breathtaking sight.

Galbatorix, however, barely saw it. He went straight into the crowd, which hastily parted to let him through, and made straight for the Cathedral steps.

As he began to climb them, Lord Aisling caught up with him and dared to catch him by the arm. 'Sire!'

Galbatorix shook him off. 'Lord Aisling, this had better be _very_ important.'

'Sire,' Aisling hissed. 'I am sorry, but… you must not go into the Cathedral now. Not while a ritual is taking place. It is forbidden.'

Galbatorix had had enough. He reached into his robe and brought out the crown. 'You see this, Lord Aisling?' he rasped. 'Do you, by any chance, know what it means?'

'Well, I-,'

Galbatorix put it on. 'It means I'm the King,' he said. 'And as such, I think that means I can go where I choose. Now get out of my way.'

Lord Aisling knew better than to argue. He stepped aside. 'As you command, Sire.'

Galbatorix walked on up the steps, shoving people out of his way. The Cathedral's interior was packed from wall to wall with more people, some sitting, some standing, all intent on the altar. Tuomas' body had been laid out on it, now clad in ceremonial armour, the urns containing Ithír's ashes resting beside him. The three High Priests were there, with a group of acolytes and lesser priests, the central and foremost of them leading the other two in a ritual chant. The gathered faithful had clasped their hands beneath their chins and bowed their heads in reverence, but they moved out of the way as soon as they became aware of Galbatorix's presence, their expressions full of alarm. He forged straight through the press of bodies, making for the altar, heedless of what was going on around him. The reverent silence had been broken, and the air was full of nervous chatter and even a few shouts of protest. Behind the altar, the chief priest looked up and stopped his chant. The other two drew a little closer to him, watching the oncoming Galbatorix. Somehow, their impassive expressions only served to make him even angrier than before.

He came on until he was right by the altar, and punched the chief priest hard in the jaw.

The priest, caught off-guard, toppled backward. His two fellows helped him up as cries of outrage rose from the crowd, but even as he stared at Galbatorix with a shocked expression, his hand moving to touch the bruise forming on his chin, the King stepped around the altar and calmly took his place. Utterly ignoring the reaction he was getting from the crowd, he spread his hand over Tuomas' body and began to speak the ritual words that traditionally accompanied the burial of a rider.

'In life, as in death, let this man be remembered. Tuomas Drasborn, son of-,'

None of the priests dared to interfere. They stood by, watching him as he spoke the words, each one striving to remain expressionless. One or two of them made a move to try and stop him, but the chief of the High Priests saw them and quietly shook his head. His lower jaw was swelling slightly and turning an ugly red colour, but he didn't seem to be feeling much pain. His gaze was fixed on Galbatorix, and there was nothing subtle whatsoever about the pure fury on his face.

Galbatorix finished the riders' rites. He was silent for a moment afterwards, apparently now just noticing the crowd. The devotees were all watching him. Many of them looked shocked, others afraid. Others looked angry.

A gleam showed in Galbatorix's eyes. He took in a deep breath, and began to speak once more, his voice echoing in the great stone space. 'Of earth born and in fire forged, by magic blessed and by cool water soothed, then by a breeze in the night blown away to a land of silver and bright flowers. May the gods receive the soul of Tuomas Drasborn, of the riders. May he look down from the stars and may his wisdom embrace us. This we ask in the names of the lost gods, by the sacred light of the moon. From this day forth we shall speak his name only in friendship, and let his misdeeds and mistakes be forgotten. Now let us speak his name.' He bowed his head. 'Toumas.' The crowd remained silent. Galbatorix looked up. 'I said, _speak his name_,' he roared. 'Do it, damn you!'

Nearly all of the worshippers obeyed.

'Thankyou,' said Galbatorix. 'Honour is honour, no matter what shape it takes. I have said farewell to my friend. Now, I shall leave you to say farewell to your Lord.' He turned to look at the chief priest. 'And as for you…' he lashed out suddenly, grabbing hold of the front of the priest's robe, and dragged him forward until they were face to face. 'The next time you decide to treat me like your glorified messenger boy, I swear to gods I will give you another bruise, and that one will hurt a lot more than this one did.' He let go of him, and held his hand out toward him, palm first. 'Waíse heill.'

The bruise faded away, and Galbatorix stepped around the altar and walked back toward the Cathedral steps. The crowd moved much more quickly this time to let him past, and he left the building with an immense feeling of relief.

One he had got clear of the crowd in the square outside, he took the crown off and headed back toward the castle. He was trembling slightly, but then, quite spontaneously, he found himself fighting down the urge to laugh. _'Oh my gods… Shruikan, were you watching?'_

Shruikan gave a mental nod. _'Every moment of it.'_

'_I haven't pulled a stunt like that in years,'_ said Galbatorix. _'Oh, the look on that old bastard's face…'_

'_It was foolish.'_

'_I know.'_ He grinned mentally. _'Laela would have been proud.'_

'_There'll be repercussions,'_ Shruikan warned.

'_Of course. But I can deal with those when they come.'_

Later that evening, once he had eaten a meal – quickly, and semi-secretly, in order to avoid having to share it with Lord Aisling and his fellow nobles – Galbatorix seated himself on his temporary throne in Tuomas' old audience chamber and began the questioning. The entire priesthood had been commanded to come to the castle for that very purpose, and he spoke to them one by one, secretly relishing their obvious resentment at being sent for as if they were no more than commoners. The chief priest was terse but polite, evidently still humiliated by what had happened in the Cathedral, and answered all of Galbatorix's questions plainly and thoroughly. Galbatorix had half-expected him to be deliberately vague in order to obstruct and annoy him, and was pleased by his frankness. However, he was less pleased by what he was being told. Since the Cathedral was open to the public most of the time, Tuomas' killers could have concealed themselves in there at any time of the day. They could even have been hiding out there for even longer, since there were plenty of nooks and crannies in the place, not least the extensive vaults under the floor. The priests had already conducted an extensive search, however, and had not found anything. Whoever the murderers were, they had known that Tuomas would visit the Cathedral as soon as he arrived back at the city, though how they knew this was less mysterious; it had always been a habit of his, and just about the entire city knew it. It could hardly have been difficult to spot Ithír on the horizon. After that it was just a matter of lying in wait until Tuomas entered the Cathedral, and then to kill him from behind as he prayed at the altar. He would have been caught off-guard, since anyone else in the Cathedral would have left it as he came in to allow him some privacy, and it was utterly forbidden to carry weapons or to hurt another person in the holy space.

Galbatorix, hearing this, winced internally.

Beyond this, however, there was very little the priesthood could tell him. The assassins had come and gone without leaving any sign behind, and nobody had seen anything suspicious. The perfect crime.

Galbatorix listened with increasing gloom. 'Very well,' he said, when the last of them had finished speaking. 'You may go. And be sure to inform me if anything further happens.'

The chief priest hesitated before he left. 'Sire, there was one thing I wanted to mention to you…'

'Go on.'

The priest had the decency to look embarrassed. 'The, uh, doors to the Cathedral, Sire. They will cost a considerable amount to repair…'

_Ask for donations from all those idiots who listen to you every damn morning and you'd have enough to build your own bloody castle, you arrogant son of a bitch,_ Galbatorix thought. Aloud, he said; 'I will provide the funds.'

'Thankyou very much, Sire. We appreciate it. May the Three Peaks-,'

Galbatorix waved him into silence. 'No need to thank me. I look after all my people.'

'Yes, Sire.' The priest left.

Once he had gone, Galbatorix sat back in his chair and sighed. Still no nearer to finding out who had killed Tuomas. Unless something solid came up, the trail had effectively gone cold.

Except for one thing, of course, and that was the little piece of information which Ithír had managed to impart to him in the midst of her agony. He mulled over it, wondering what it could mean. Four killers, all anonymous… but there was that pointed ear he had glimpsed. It had to be an elf. But if it was an elf, then the implications were more than unsettling. Long ago, during the war now known as the Fall of the Riders, Galbatorix had led an alliance of humans, urgals and riders into Du Weldenvarden, the forested domain of the race of elves. He, with the help of the Forsworn and the army of rebels they had helped him to lead, had effectively wiped out the elvish race. All but one of their settlements had been wiped out, and the last of them, Ellesméra, had been left more or less intact. He had defeated the elves there, and had delivered an ultimatum to their Queen, Islanzadí. _If I chose to, I could remove your race from the face of the earth. But I won't. I will not become you. Even though you deserve the fate you inflicted on a hundred other races, it is not my place to say which races should have the right to live. So I will leave you here, unmolested. But if you ever emerge from this forest again – if one single member of your race is ever so much as spotted in my lands – I will return, and this time I will not spare you. I will kill every last one of you. Even the children._

That had been his promise to the elves, and he had kept it. There were barely five hundred elves left in Alagaësia, by his estimate, and it seemed that they were content to remain in Du Weldenvarden and leave the human race to their own devices. But still Galbatorix did not trust them. He had sent Morzan to visit them every so often, to make sure they were keeping to themselves, and to ensure, too, that they knew they were being watched. Even so, Galbatorix did not doubt that they had not forgotten what had happened. Elves were immortal, after all, and most of those who had witnessed the massacres he had visited on them were still alive. And elves did not forget easily, and nor did they forgive.

So if one of them had decided to leave Du Weldenvarden, and had taken place in the killing of one of the Forsworn…

Unfortunately, Galbatorix knew he could not lie to himself. If what he had seen was indeed accurate, then it meant Islanzadí had broken her promise, and that it was now up to him to keep his. But he knew he couldn't. The Empire simply did not have the numbers, nor the generals, to invade Du Weldenvarden again. The last time it had happened had been under exceptional circumstances, when about a third of the entire human population had moblised itself in order to fight for him, along with huge numbers of the warlike urgals. Circumstances like that did not come along every day, and elves were ferocious fighters – many of them nearly as powerful as a rider.

No, Galbatorix knew he could not destroy them now. He did not have the strength, and nor did he have the will. He was tired of war, and tired of killing. But it seemed the world simply would not let him rest.

He had to do something, and fast. He could not act until he had more information. And he had already thought of a way to get it.

He retreated to the master bedroom and locked himself inside. As expected, it was luxurious and over-furnished – every stick of furniture was ornate and expensive. There was a large stone fireplace in one wall, a roaring fire already lit in it, and a bearskin rug on the floor. Galbatorix stood by the bed – groaning internally when he saw the down pillows and velvet coverlet – and took off his robe. He left it draped over the bed, and wandered over to the fireplace, bare-chested. He sat down in a comfortable leather armchair and stared into the fire, fiddling absent-mindedly with the iron dragon amulet that hung around his neck. The flickering light played over his thin chest, highlighting the various ugly scars that stretched over his torso, some pale and silvery, others red and puckered. His hair, hanging loose over his shoulders, only half-covered the marks of a whip on his back. On his right shoulder, standing out blackly against the pale skin, was a simple but elegant tattoo of a triple-spiral symbol. His personal emblem, the one that had appeared on the banners of the rebel army he had led long ago – the dark elvish sign of Kingship.

'_Shruikan?'_ he said at last.

'_What is it?'_

'_I'm going into the city tonight.'_

Shruikan's dismay came to him over their link almost immediately. _'This again. Why?'_

'_I need to spy out the situation. Mingle with people and find out what's really going on here. Tuomas said it was peaceful here, but… I have to find out what the feeling is here. And just how many people actually wanted him dead.'_

'_Can't you just send someone else to do it?'_ said Shruikan. _'For the gods' sakes, you're the King, not a spy!'_

'_It's not the same, Shruikan. I prefer to rely on my own judgement. Besides, I can handle myself.'_

'_But what if something happened to you?'_

'_Please. I killed three riders in Gil'ead with my hands chained together. I think I'll be fine.'_

'_You can't rely on luck forever, Galbatorix. Even you can be defeated.'_

'_But I won't be.'_ Galbatorix stood up and crossed the room to where a cupboard stood half-open. It was full of clothes. He sorted through them and finally selected the plainest tunic he could find and tossed it onto the bed. Some rummaging in a drawer unearthed a pair of scissors, and he carried them over to the fire and sat down again. He would use a simpler disguise this time. A magical mask, while effective, would tire him, and he was low enough on energy already. And, of course, there was always the risk that it would wear off before he was ready. No, it wouldn't be strictly necessary. Here he would be far less likely to be recognised. He hadn't visited the city in decades, and even though plenty of people had seen him that day in the Cathedral not as many had seen him up close. And besides, who in their right mind would expect him to show up out in the city, plainly dressed and on his own? Especially if he made a few changes.

'_Please, Galbatorix,'_ said Shruikan. _'Don't go. This is madness.'_

'_Shruikan, Tuomas and Ithír are dead. They were our friends, and they were murdered right under our noses. If we had come here two hours earlier, one hour earlier, we could have saved them. We failed them. I will not let the ones who did this go unpunished. I will find them myself. Being King shouldn't make me useless. I can do what needs to be done myself, and I will not sit here idly and wait for someone else to avenge my friend for me.'_

'_Galbatorix, it's your duty to protect yourself. If you died, what would happen then?'_

Galbatorix lifted the scissors. _'No-one can kill the Shadow that Walks,'_ he said, and began to cut off his hair.

It took him a good ten minutes. He cringed as he watched the long, well-groomed curls he had taken so much care of fall to the floor, chunk by chunk, until they had formed into a little pile around his feet. But he forced himself to continue until all that was left was an uneven, shaggy mess that was barely long enough to reach halfway down his neck. Once it was done, he put the scissors down, gathered up the heap of curls and dumped it into the fire, where it shrivelled away to nothing. He paused, crouched over the fireplace, and then muttered a few words in the ancient language. Almost instantly, every hair on his chin fell out into the fire, leaving him beardless for the first time in ninety-odd years.

He sighed and turned away, brushing the stray hairs off his shoulders, and found a mirror in order to see what sort of effect this crude haircut had had.

His head looked much smaller now. The remnant of his hair was a horrendous mess, with tufts sticking out in every direction, and a few curls left here and there, dangling incongrously around his ears and over his forehead. He picked up the scissors again and made an attempt to neaten it up a little. It worked, more or less, and he tried another look and was both surprised and mildly pleased. Now, without his beard and without the curly mane hanging around his shoulders, he looked completely different. Much younger, and far less neat. He certainly did not look like a King. He looked, more or less, like a just another young man with a very bad haircut.

He snickered. There was no way in the world that anyone would recognise him now, even if they had already met him more than once. Because, under normal circumstances, he would never have even considered being seen in public looking like this.

Satisfied, he picked up the tunic from the bed and pulled it on. It was a little too small, but it would do. He took the seal ring off his finger and put it on the nightstand, along with the crown, found a small bag of coins in a drawer and tied it to his belt, and was ready to go. But he paused to pick up a dagger in a sheath and conceal it in his tunic before he did so.

'_All right,'_ he said, to Shruikan. _'I'm ready.'_

'_How long will you be gone?'_

'_Probably not very long. I still need sleep. I'll be back before midnight, you'll see.'_

'_Someone's going to recognise you,'_ said Shruikan.

'_No they aren't. Watch this.'_ He went to the bedroom door and opened it slightly. There was no-one in the corridor outside, so he slipped out and locked the door behind him with a quick spell. This done, he strode boldly off into the rest of the castle, hands in his pockets, not troubling to conceal himself. There were guards posted at the end of the corridor, and he was pleased to see that they were on the alert and spotted him instantly.

'You!' one said, grabbing him by the arm. 'What are you doing here?'

'I was just bringing some firewood to the bedchambers,' Galbatorix explained.

The guard thumped him in the stomach. 'I don't like how you speak to me, boy. And you shouldn't be in this part of the castle right now, so piss off.'

Galbatorix bit down on his automatically shocked and outraged reaction with some effort. 'Yes, sir,' he said, wincing and rubbing his bruised stomach. 'I'm sorry, sir.'

'You'd better be. Now get lost.'

'Yes, sir.' Galbatorix scurried off. He could hardly believe it. _'My gods, I haven't called anyone "sir" since I don't know when. I mean, he told me to piss off. Me!'_

A sudden rush of excitement came over him, as he walked off and left the living quarters, and his true identity, behind. The servants he passed barely even looked at him. One or two snapped at him when he got in their way, and a third one dumped a heap of grubby blankets in his arms and said; 'Take this lot down to the laundry, double time. Go on, I haven't got all night!'

'Sure. Uh… which way is it?'

'It's just outside the Northernmost wall, where it's always been, you dolt! Now get a damn move on!'

'Yes. Of course. Sorry, don't know what came over me…' he hurried off in that direction.

He found the laundry after a few wrong turns and asking for directions. Even at this hour the place was bustling. He found a woman who looked like she was in charge and she, on seeing him, said; 'Dump those over there. Is this the last lot?'

'Er… dunno, m'am,' said Galbatorix. He took the blankets to the large heap of others, and dumped them on top.

The woman squinted at him. 'Don't think I've seen you around here before. What's your name?'

'Arren, m'am,' said Galbatorix, making his voice faster and lighter than usual. 'I just got here today.'

'Well, you've got a good attitude,' the woman said approvingly. 'Can't say the same for your haircut, though. Who did it?'

'Er, I did, m'am. I'm not very good at it, but…'

'That's one strange accent you've got,' said the woman. 'Where's it from?'

'It's Baenish, m'am. I used to live there.'

'Grew up under the shadow of the King, did you?' said the woman. 'I don't envy you. Well, off you go.'

Galbatorix nodded and smiled to her, and left. Once he was safely out of the laundry, he found a gate in the castle's outer wall and walked through it. There was a guard on the other side, but he made no attempt to stop him.

'Excuse me,' said Galbatorix. 'Can you tell me if there's a good tavern anywhere in town?'

The guard scratched his chin. 'Well, there's the Smelting Pot over on the Westside. Beer tastes like piss, but there's a fireplace and usually a good crowd.'

'Thankyou, sir.'

'Just finishing work, are you?' said the guard.

Galbatorix nodded. 'And I think I've earned a drink.'


	6. The Varden

Chapter Six

The Varden

The Smelting Pot was a large place – split into two big, adjoining rooms, each one with a high, oak-beamed ceiling and a fireplace. There were plenty of benches, most of them packed with people, eating, drinking and talking. No-one noticed Galbatorix come in.

He went to the bar and ordered some ale, and sat at one of the tables, where a dozen other people had already gathered and were talking amongst themselves. They obligingly shuffled along the bench to give him room, and some glanced briefly at him, but otherwise they barely acknowledged his presence.

'-anyway, so then the King himself shows up, just like that,' one man was saying. 'Just comes striding into the Cathedral, right in the middle of the funeral, and kicks the chief priest in the happy sacs. Then when the others tried to interfere he punched them out, shoved them out of the way and started reciting some weird pagan ritual. Right in the damn Cathedral! 'Course, no-one was about to stop him, were they. I heard two people already got arrested just for complaining about it.'

'It's outrageous. Who does he think he is?' said a woman.

'Uh, the King?' said someone else.

'That doesn't mean he can go and blaspheme like that,' said the woman. 'Some things are sacred, ain't they?'

'Not to him they aren't,' the first man said darkly. 'From what I heard, the High Priests have all been arrested for making him angry. It'll be the rest of us next, I'm telling you.'

'Oh come on, he can't arrest the entire city,' said another man. 'Even if he _is_ completely off his rocker.'

Galbatorix listened to this with wry amusement. It wasn't the first time he had heard outrageously exaggerated accounts of his actions from people in places like this. To begin with it had made him angry and alarmed, but now he'd come to expect it. People always talked like this. It was harmless enough.

'Sounds like he's unstable to me,' he said loudly, lifting his mug of ale. 'Going around acting like that. First he goes and insults the priesthood like that, along with every one of the faithful in the city – what's next? That's what I want to know.'

There was a gloomy muttering from around the table.

'Yeah, you said it,' said someone.

'I just want to know how long he's going to be staying in the city,' said the woman who'd spoken earlier. 'Can't he just go home and inflict his madness on the Baeneans again? That lot decided they wanted to live there, so they can put up with it if they want. I don't see why we should.'

'Well, he did have to bury Lord Tuomas,' Galbatorix put in. 'Or he tried to, anyway.'

'It's not up to him, it's up to the priesthood,' said the woman. 'Let him deal with matters of the mortal realm, and leave the plane of the dead to them as knows better, that's what I say.'

'But wasn't it natural for him to want to pay his respects?' said Galbatorix. 'They were friends, you know.'

'Friends?' said the woman. 'Huh. The King doesn't have any friends, and doesn't want 'em, either, from what I hear.'

Galbatorix took a swig of ale, and pulled a face. The guard hadn't been lying about the quality of the drink here. He decided to go out on a limb. 'Well,' he said loudly, 'If you ask me, Tuomas had it coming to him.'

'No he didn't,' the woman snapped almost instantly. 'And don't you dare say that, boy. Lord Tuomas did more for this city than you could ever hope to achieve.'

There were vigorous nods from the other people at the table.

'I say gods bless him,' one man said. 'He was the best damn governor this city's ever had. Kind and pious. Listened to the people. The world's a sadder place for losing him.'

Several people shouted their assent, and the man raised his mug. 'To Lord Tuomas!'

The others did the same, and Galbatorix joined in, murmuring, 'To Lord Tuomas.'

'But,' he persisted, once he had drunk, 'You're forgetting who he was working for. He was a vassal of the Mad King, wasn't he? Eh? Did his bidding here for nearly a century.'

'It didn't make him a bad person,' said the man who had made the toast.

'You're right,' said Galbatorix. 'It's sad, isn't it? That someone like that devoted his life to serving that tyrant. That's why he died, you know.'

The table went quiet.

'Yeah,' the man sighed. 'You're right there, lad. Such a waste of such a great man's life.'

'You don't have any idea about who killed him, do you?' said the woman, addressing her fellow drinkers at large. 'No-one seems to know.'

'The Varden,' said someone. 'Had to have been.'

'That lot of grubby lunatics?' the woman scoffed. 'Don't be ridiculous.'

'I think it was them,' said Galbatorix. 'And even if it wasn't, what they did was right. Don't you see? They're taking away the King's followers. All the Forsworn. Without them he'll be helpless, and then-,' he made a throat-slitting gesture – '-Then they can go after the King himself. And as soon as he's dead…' he stopped and pulled a fierce expression. 'If I could help them do it, I would.'

Silence fell. Everyone around the table stopped dead, and a dozen conversations around them broke off. Fifty people turned to stare at Galbatorix. He stared back defiantly and sipped his drink. 'It's true,' he said. 'We're ruled by a murderer. One day he'll pay for his crimes. You'll see.'

There was a pause, and the innkeeper appeared, shouldering his way through the crowd toward him. 'We don't allow that sort of talk in here,' he said sharply. 'So get out.'

Galbatorix knew he had gone too far. He stood up and stepped over the bench, but it evidently wasn't fast enough for the innkeeper, who shoved him roughly toward the door. 'Go on, beat it before I have you thrown out!'

Galbatorix turned and dumped the mug of ale in his hands. 'Your drink tastes like you squeezed it out of a dead cat,' he said, and walked off. The drinkers watched him go for a moment, and then resumed their talk.

Galbatorix emerged into the street, and sighed. In spite of the hostile stares that had followed him there, he was pleased by what had happened in the tavern. The people were not on the verge of revolt, not by any yardstick. There was resentment, but no more than usual, and the extreme reaction he had managed to provoke from them was all the proof he needed that, in spite of their grumbling, they were still loyal to him. Life, after all, was not bad enough for them to want to do anything revolutionary at the moment. And he was sad but happy to hear them speak so affectionately about Tuomas.

It was probably time to head back to the castle now. He had all the information he was likely to get at the moment. Clearly, the assassins had been working without the support of the population at large, and it was quite possible that they were not even Dras-Leonians. A different tack would be needed in order to find them. He'd have to consult the records of everyone who had come into the city over the last few months, and hope to turn up some clue that way.

As he strolled off through the darkened streets, however, he became slowly aware that he was being followed. He sighed. Muggers again. Or perhaps someone had decided to teach him a lesson for his treasonous remarks in the tavern.

He sped up, deliberately directing his course toward the more isolated area of the city. His pursuers did not give up. Once he was well away from any places where someone might see something, he turned sharply to the left, into a small alleyway. There, he stopped and turned around.

'Can I help you?'

The three people who had been following him stopped. One of them glanced around furtively, and moved closer. 'Don't panic,' he said in a low voice. 'We're friends.'

Galbatorix folded his arms. 'I'll be the judge of that. Who are you and what do you want?'

'We heard you in the tavern,' said the man. 'You said you would kill the King himself if you could. Did you mean it?'

'Perhaps,' said Galbatorix, instantly on the alert. 'Who wants to know?'

'We're friends,' said the man. 'And if you truly meant what you said, then we're here to tell you that you are not alone.'

'You're revolutionaries?' said Galbatorix.

'We are you,' said the man. 'Or you as you could become if you chose. We believe that the country is in the grip of evil, and that it is time for justice to prevail once more.'

Galbatorix reached into his tunic and gripped the hilt of his dagger. 'Are you the Varden?'

The man glanced over his shoulder. 'Not here!' he hissed. 'If you want to learn more, come with us. We will take you to a safe place, where we can talk.'

Galbatorix hesitated for a brief moment. Then he nodded. 'I'm interested. Lead the way.'

The three men walked out of the alley. Before he followed them, Galbatorix put his right hand behind his back and whispered; '_Leyna þessi gedwëy ignaesia_.'

His palm prickled with heat, and he winced, but kept the magic flowing as he left the alley and joined the three men, who were waiting for him. The spell completed even as the foremost of them said; 'Now. I will go ahead. My two friends will walk behind you, to ensure you don't lose your way.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Go on. I'll be right behind you.'

They set out. As Galbatorix fell into step behind the man, with the strange and uncomfortable feeling that he was being marched off to prison, he stole a quick glance at his palm. Sure enough, the silver gedwëy ignaesia had disappeared. It was a little disconcerting to see his palm covered in nothing but ordinary pink skin.

The route the three men led him on was a winding one, which cut through at least three of the different city districts and crossed over the canal several times. Galbatorix quickly realised that they were taking this rambling pathway on purpose, to stop him from guessing where they were going and to throw off anyone who could be watching them.

They finally came to a stop down in the lower end of the city, not far from the gates, and there he was hustled into another alley. Two of the three men kept watch by the entrance, and the third one took a strip of black cloth from his pocket. 'Now,' he said. 'I'm afraid I must blindfold you. We cannot risk anyone knowing where our hideout is located.'

Galbatorix did not like the sound of this, but he had been expecting something of the kind, and nodded. 'Fine. Is it far?'

'Not too far,' the man admitted. 'Hold still.'

Galbatorix stood still while the strip of cloth was tied around his eyes, covering half of his face and blinding him completely. As soon as it was done, he heard the man's voice in his ear. 'Now, follow my lead.'

Galbatorix took hold of his arm, and the man guided him out of the alley and away. He did his best to try and memorise the turns – left, right, right, left, left, right again – but it proved to be a pointless exercise – once again his guides were cautious and made sure to prevent him knowing which way he was going. He followed blindly, feeling an unpleasant sense of apprehension in his chest. This was obscenely dangerous. He had no idea of where he was going, how many people would be there, and what would happen. How closely would they question him? And if they realised just who they had brought into their midst, what would they do? Most likely they would panic and try to kill him, but he was confident that he could fight his way out if he had to, even without White Violence.

And, at the same time, he knew that he would never get another chance like this. _My gods,_ he thought. _I'm being recruited into the group that wants to kill me._

His guide came to a halt. 'We stop here,' he said unnecessarily. 'Don't move.'

Galbatorix stood still, and resignedly let them pat him down. They found his dagger and took it away, but let him keep his money-pouch. He had brought nothing else with him.

'Done,' said a voice, and the blindfold was taken off.

Galbatorix blinked in the sudden light. He was in a small and nondescript room, lit only by a handful of candles. There were five people there, all wearing face-concealing hoods, sitting around the edges of the room on chairs.

Two of the three men who had brought him went to join them, and the third turned to him and said; 'Welcome to our hideout, brother. I will return your dagger later. Would you care to sit with us? My friends would like to hear what you have to say.'

'I would be honoured,' said Galbatorix.

'Then sit,' said the man, as his two companions dragged a chair to the middle of the room, where all those present would be able to get a clear view.

Galbatorix sat down, and the two men stationed themselves on either side of him, like guards, watching closely for any sign of movement. He kept his hands in plain view, and did his best to look passive.

The third man looked around at the others in the room and said; 'This is a new recruit for us. Today he dared to speak out against the King in a public place, and was thrown out for his troubles. We have brought him here to meet you. Tell me, brother,' he said, to Galbatorix. 'What is your name, and where are you from?'

'My name is Roland,' Galbatorix lied. 'Of Urû'baen.'

There were murmurs from the others. 'You came from Urû'baen?' one of the shrouded figures said. 'I thought I recognised the accent, but-,'

'And what business brought you to Dras-Leona, Roland Baenborn?' said the man.

'I am a leatherworker,' said Galbatorix, which in a way was still true. 'I make boots.' He lifted one foot slightly. 'I made these myself. I came to Dras-Leona in the hopes of opening a workshop.'

'But could you, perhaps, return to your birthplace if the needs of the people required it?'

Galbatorix paused. 'I could, if I needed to. Why do you ask?'

'We have cells in every city,' said the man. 'We operate separately, but our leader travels from city to city, inspiring us and giving us our orders. It is our duty to maintain our cells and recruit new members where we can until he comes and takes command.'

'Are you the Varden?' said Galbatorix.

The man paused. 'Yes. We are people who believe, as you do, that the King must die, and we will give up our own lives in order to achieve that end.'

'May I ask why?' Galbatorix asked cautiously.

'Do you question our goals?' said the man.

'No. I only want to understand them.'

'The King must be removed at all costs,' said the man. 'A murderer and lunatic cannot be allowed to defile the country by his rule. The riders of old must be avenged. The human race failed them long ago, and now it is our duty to redeem ourselves by destroying the one who destroyed them.'

'You would risk civil war by doing that?' said Galbatorix.

'If necessary, yes.'

'I admire your dedication,' said Galbatorix. 'Truly. Not many men would have the courage to oppose a power as great as the King's.'

'Some causes are so great that no courage can ever match them,' said the man, with the hint of a satisfied smile.

Galbatorix nodded. 'True. Very true. So you want me to go to Urû'baen and begin a cell there?'

'No,' said the man. 'There is already a cell there. They are poised to act the moment our leader gives them their signal. If you will agree to aid us, then you must go there and join them.'

'I wouldn't know how to find them,' said Galbatorix.

'We will give you that information,' said the man. 'But first, you must prove yourself to us. Roland Baenborn, are you willing to do all that is necessary to set Alagaësia free?'

'I am,' said Galbatorix.

'And would you die to do so?'

'I would. A hundred times.'

'Then prove yourself to us,' said the man. 'We will give you an assignment. If you succeed, you will be accepted into the Varden. As soon as you have satisfied us that you are dedicated to our cause, we will give you the means to find our brothers in Urû'baen.'

'I understand,' said Galbatorix. 'And I'll do as you ask. But there is one thing I want to know.'

'Speak.'

'Did the Varden have anything to do with the death of Lord Tuomas this morning?' said Galbatorix.

There was silence.

'We are not at liberty to tell you that,' said the man.

'So you were,' Galbatorix said instantly. 'I suspected it.'

The man looked slightly irritated. 'Very well. I suppose I can't hide it. Yes, we were behind the assassination of the traitor rider.'

'Because your leader ordered you to?' said Galbatorix.

'Yes.'

'Then he was here? Today?'

The man hesitated. 'Yes. Now he has gone, and his friends with him.'

'Who is he?' said Galbatorix.

'I don't know, and I wouldn't tell you if I did,' said the man. 'His identity is an absolute secret. But he was one of those who slew the traitor.'

Galbatorix decided to risk it. 'Is he an elf?'

Everyone in the room froze.

'An elf?' the man said sharply. 'Why do you ask that?'

Galbatorix shrugged with forced casualness. 'I had heard rumours that there was an elf in the city. Are they involved in this? Because if anyone has a reason to hate the King, they do.'

'What rumours were these?' said the man. 'From whom did you hear them?'

'I have my sources,' said Galbatorix.

The tension in the room mounted. 'That's not good enough,' the man said in a low voice. His two friends had moved a little closer to Galbatorix. 'Tell us where you heard this. If you lie to us, you will regret it.'

'People talk,' said Galbatorix, a little too loudly. 'Who knows where these stories come from? But if you must know, it was one of the priests.'

'Which one?'

'Just a junior one. I didn't get his name. But he said he saw someone near the Cathedral this morning, and that he thought he had pointed ears. And the only race I know of that has pointed ears is the elves. And only an elf could be strong enough to kill a rider.'

'You seem to know a lot, Roland Baenborn,' said the man.

'I've seen a few things,' said Galbatorix.

'Indeed,' said the man. 'And I would like to know just where you saw them.'

His two friends suddenly grabbed hold of Galbatorix's shoulders, pinning him to his chair. He didn't try and fight them off. 'If you want my help, I suggest you avoid threatening me,' he said coldly.

'And if you want us to trust you, I suggest you tell us the truth,' said the man. 'So tell me, Roland Baenborn… where did you learn about elves? Few people have any knowledge of them now.'

'Old stories. Books. There are ways to learn,' said Galbatorix. 'Besides, isn't it common knowledge that elves are stronger than humans, and that they hate the King? I'd already wondered if they were helping the Varden. It only makes sense, doesn't it?'

'Your deductions are dangerous ones,' said the man. 'And much more insightful than I would expect. How does a leatherworker understand matters like this?'

'A man is more than what he does,' said Galbatorix. 'I know about more than just making boots, and I've seen more than just leather and awls.'

'And yet you were foolish enough to say what you said in a public place with dozens of witnesses,' said the man.

Galbatorix had had enough. 'A man is free to say what he thinks. And perhaps the only reason you don't exercise that right is because you're afraid to. After all, it's so much less frightening to say what you really think in a secret hideaway like this, where no-one will disagree with you, isn't it?'

The man holding his right shoulder hit him in the face. 'Don't you _dare_ speak like that!'

Galbatorix shoved him away, and the man grabbed for his shoulder. He missed and caught hold of the sleeve of his tunic instead, and as his companion tried to pull Galbatorix away from him, it tore. The seam broke and the sleeve came off, falling away to reveal the tattoo on Galbatorix's shoulder.

'What in the blue hell?' said the man, letting go of the torn fabric.

Galbatorix tried to cover the tattoo, but it was far too late. They had all seen it.

The man who had introduced him to the Varden grabbed hold of his arm, wrenching it forward so he could see the tattoo. The others had leapt to their feet, many of them drawing weapons. Galbatorix got out of the chair and pulled away from the two men holding him, backing away until the wall was behind him.

'What is the meaning of this?' the man demanded.

'It's just a tattoo,' said Galbatorix.

'A tattoo of the King's emblem?' said the man. 'Why in the gods' names would you have something like that?'

'I was young and stupid,' said Galbatorix. 'I thought it would look good. That's all.'

'Liar,' one of the shrouded figures hissed.

The man pointed at him. 'Tell us who you really are,' he demanded. 'Now.'

'I am who I said I am,' said Galbatorix.

The man grabbed him by the front of his tunic. 'If you think you can play me for a fool, think again, Baenean,' he snarled. 'Tell me the truth, or you will suffer until you do.'

Galbatorix pulled away. 'The truth?' he said. 'You wouldn't recognise it if you heard it.' He glanced to his left, and saw them closing in on him. This was it. It had finally gone too far.

He let his fighter's instinct take over, and punched the man in the jaw. He followed it up with a kick which knocked his legs out from under him, then turned and struck one of the other revolutionaries a blow which sent him flying. The rest drew their weapons and charged. In a split second, he raised his right hand. No choices left. He would have to use magic.

As he summoned up his energy, he reached out for Shruikan with his mind. _'Shruikan, I've found them. They're going to-,'_

He never finished the sentence. Something struck him in the back of the head, so hard it made his vision flash red. Galbatorix stood still for the fraction of a second, and then crumpled.

The revolutionaries gathered around him. One of them turned him over, dagger raised ready to stab him if he moved, but he was limp and unresponsive.

'Out cold.'

Someone else put two fingers to the side of his neck and kept them there, feeling for a pulse.

'Anything?'

The shrouded figure withdrew her hand and lifted Galbatorix's head by the hair, examining the back of it. His hair was soaked with blood. She let go and looked up at the others.

'He's dead.'

The man who had first brought him swore. 'Gods damn it!'

'What are we going to do?' someone asked him.

The man pulled himself together. 'Get rid of him,' he said tersely. 'Tie a weight to his neck and throw him in the canal.'


	7. Mistakes

Chapter Seven

Mistakes

Something was making a noise, a long way away. He could hear it. It was echoing, but very loud – painfully so. It sent red-hot shafts of agony through his head – he could even see them, flashing past his field of vision.

He tried to turn away from the pain, but he couldn't. The sound kept on going. He wanted to speak and tell it to leave him alone, but his voice came out as a vague and distorted sound that only made the pain worse. But it lessened a little after a time, and he was able to relax and try to think. Was the sound a voice? Was it dangerous?

As the time passed and the pain retreated further, he was able to discern more. Yes. A voice. Definitely a voice. But it was slurred and fuzzy, and he couldn't make out the words. Perhaps he could see something?

He opened his eyes. His vision was grey and full of strange dancing lights, but he could make out a few shapes. Evidently the owner of the voice had seen he was awake, because the voice grew louder and more distinct, and he finally understood it.

'Hello? Are you all right? Just breathe!'

He opened his mouth and gasped in air, and almost at once he felt strength and clarity flow into him. He coughed, which made his head hurt unbelieveably, but the more he breathed the better he felt. His vision slowly came back into focus, and his hearing along with it.

A hand patted his face. 'That's it! Breathe! You're going to be okay.'

And breathe he did. He peered upwards and saw a bearded, elderly face looking down at him with a concerned expression. '…Roland?' he mumbled.

The face creased in a smile. 'No, I'm not Roland. I'm Edrick. How do you feel?'

'Head… hurts.'

'Well, there's no surprise there. You've had a pretty near miss. Can you move?'

He had a go at it, and when he found his limbs would obey him he tried to sit up. Edrick helped him, saying; 'There, there, steady on, easy now… there! Well done. That's much better.'

He rubbed his head and tried to think. There was a painful lump on the back of his skull. How had that got there? 'What… where…?' he managed.

'You're at the docks,' said Edrick. 'At the West End.'

'…docks? What?'

'I just pulled you out of the canal,' said Edrick. 'How did you get there? What's your name?'

He concentrated. 'My name is… Galbatorix.'

Edrick chuckled. 'You're still a little confused, I think. Here, let me help you up.'

He pulled him to his feet, and he stood, leaning on his arm and groaning at the pain in his head. Everything was spinning around him, but he saw that it was broad daylight, and that he was, indeed, by the canal.

'You're very lucky,' Edrick was saying. 'Another few minutes and you'd have been dead. How did you end up in there, anyway?'

But, over the sound of his voice, was another one echoing inside his head. _'Galbatorix? Galbatorix? Can you hear me? For the gods' sakes, answer me!'_

His head was still in a haze of pain and dizziness, but he managed to find his own mental voice. _'…Shruikan? Is that… is that you?'_

A feeling of overwhelming relief rushed into him over the mental channel. _'Galbatorix! Thank gods! Where are you? For the gods' sakes, where have they taken you? What are they doing to you?'_

'_What? I don't… I'm not… oh, my head hurts…'_

'_Galbatorix!'_ Shruikan bellowed. _'Where – are – you?'_

'_I'm at the West End. Near the canal.'_

'_Are you safe?'_

'_I think so…'_

'_Then stay where you are,'_ said Shruikan. _'I'm coming.'_

Edrick was looking at him with concern. 'Are you all right? You look a bit glazed.'

Galbatorix rubbed his face. His head still hurt savagely, but his disorientation was receding. 'I think I'll be fine. Thankyou for helping me.'

'It's no trouble,' said Edrick. 'Couldn't leave a fellow human in a fix like that, now could I?'

Galbatorix looked around, trying to get a bearing on his surroundings. How could it be morning already? Where had the time gone? He checked himself for injuries. Other than the lump on his head, he seemed to be fine, though there was a dull ache in his back and limbs. And, needless to say, his clothes were soaking wet and very muddy.

A shadow passed overhead, and Edrick looked up uneasily. 'It's that dragon again,' he said.

Galbatorix followed his gaze, and saw the black dragon circling above them. 'Shruikan!'

'He's been doing that ever since the King went missing,' said Edrick. 'All day and all night.'

'All day and-?'

'_Galbatorix!' _Shruikan's voice called out to him. _'Where are you?'_

'_I'm down here!'_ Galbatorix shouted back, though that wasn't strictly necessary. _'Here!'_ He sent Shruikan a mental image of his surroundings, and a moment later the dragon passed overhead once more. His mind radiated triumph, and he said; _'I've found you!'_

Galbatorix turned to Edrick. 'Get out of the way,' he said. 'Now!'

The man looked confused. 'What?'

Galbatorix didn't wait to explain himself. He turned and stumbled away as fast as he could go. A massive gust of air blew down on him, nearly knocking him over, and a second later Shruikan had descended from the sky, scooped him up in his jaws and carried him away.

Galbatorix hung passively from the dragon's mouth, trying not to move lest he impale himself on Shruikan's teeth. _'Nice catch.'_

Shruikan was practically vibrating with joy. _'Thank gods! Oh, thank gods, thank gods, thank gods. I've found you. I've got you back. Thank gods…'_

'_It's all right, Shruikan, I'm fine. Well… my head feels like a cart ran over it, and my clothes are ruined, but other than that…'_

Shruikan landed on the dragon roost, and deposited him on the stone with surprising gentleness, quickly bringing his tail around to support him. Galbatorix leant on it, shivering with cold, and Shruikan brought his snout down toward him and sniffed at him, examining him closely to make sure he was in one piece. Apparently satisfied, he said; _'Thank gods. Galbatorix, where have you been? What happened to you?'_

Galbatorix held his hand over his own head. 'Waíse heill.' The magic went to work, and the pain in his head finally vanished completely. He sighed in relief. _'I got into a little trouble. I infiltrated the rebels, but they got suspicious and then things turned violent.'_

'_You were a fool,'_ Shruikan said softly. _'You do know that, don't you?'_

'_Yes, Shruikan. I know. You were right. As always. Did anyone notice I was gone?'_

'_Did they notice?'_ said Shruikan. He sounded bewildered. _'Galbatorix, when the King of Alagaësia disappears for a week, _everyone_ notices. The whole castle is frantic.'_

Galbatorix blinked. _'A _week_? What are you-?'_

He heard a roar to his left, and a huge red dragon came down to land on the roost, only just able to fit next to Shruikan. She brought her head down to sniff at Galbatorix, and he saw her wings shivering on her back in a frantic, convulsive movement.

Galbatorix touched her snout. 'Idün? What are you doing here?'

Idün let out a great sigh, and her wings stilled. Shruikan growled to comfort her. And then, even as Galbatorix was on the point of asking him what was going on, the trapdoor to his left banged open and Morzan climbed through it. The big rider emerged into the open air and stopped dead, staring at him in disbelief.

'Sire? Is that… is that you?'

Galbatorix made an attempt to clean some of the mud off his tunic. 'Unfortunately, yes.'

His fellow rider looked pale and dishevelled, his eyes red-rimmed and his chin covered in stubble. He moved closer, squinting at him, and at last, recognition flashed across his face and he let out a cry and pulled him into a great, crushing hug.

It caught Galbatorix off-guard, and for the fraction of a second he nearly panicked and attacked him. But then he relaxed and returned the hug, and it suddenly occurred to him that nobody – _nobody_ – had given him a hug in eighty-five years. Since the day he had been crowned, no-one had so much as patted him on the shoulder.

Morzan let go fairly quickly, however. 'I can't believe it,' he said, sounding slightly embarrassed. 'I mean… what the hell happened to you? Who did this to you, Sire? Where have you been?'

'To be honest, I'm really not completely sure,' said Galbatorix. 'Morzan, what are you doing here?'

'What d'you mean, Sire?' said Morzan. 'I got your letter. You said you needed me, so I came here right away, and then when I arrived a few days ago they told me you'd disappeared. No-one had any idea where you'd gone. You just vanished from your room one night, and no-one had seen you since.'

Galbatorix listened, still not quite believing what he was hearing. He tried to think of something to say, but without much success. 'Is… is everything all right here?' he managed. He realised he was swaying.

'Sire, are you all right?' said Morzan. 'Are you hurt?'

Real pain showed on Galbatorix's face. 'Please… don't call me that, Morzan. I can't stand it.'

Morzan hesitated, and then took hold of his shoulder. 'Are you all right, Galbatorix?'

No. The answer was no. He _knew_ it was no. 'Yes,' he said.

'Well,' said Morzan. 'We'd better get below and let everyone know you're all right-,'

'No, Morzan,' Galbatorix said sharply. 'Don't. Not yet.'

'What d'you mean?' said Morzan.

'I can't let anyone see me like this,' said Galbatorix. 'What would people think if they saw me in this state? No, just… get me to my room. I need to rest and get out of these wet clothes. And…' he realised hunger was gnawing at his insides. '-I need something to eat. Badly.'

Morzan nodded. 'Yes. You're right. Here.' He took off his cloak and draped it around Galbatorix's shoulders. Galbatorix gratefully pulled it around himself, relishing the warmth of the thick wool. Morzan jumped back down through the trapdoor and waited for him below, and once Galbatorix had paused to reassure Shruikan, he followed him.

Morzan went ahead of him through the castle, ordering people out of the way, until they reached the door to the master bedroom. Morzan unlocked it. 'It's still how you left it,' he said, ushering him inside.

True to what he had said, the bedroom remained as over-furnished as before. Morzan lit a fire in the grate with a quick blast of magic, and found a towel for him. 'I'll go and get you some food,' he said, handing it to him, and left to give him some privacy.

Galbatorix stripped off his tunic and tossed it into the fire, then dried himself off, using the basin of water on the nightstand to clean the mud out of the remnants of his hair. He found a clean pair of black trousers in a drawer and put them on after sadly consigning his old pair to the fire as well. He found his robe, still lying on the bed where he'd left it, and put it on.

Morzan returned just as he was doing up the fastenings, carrying a tray with bread, cheese and apples on it. He closed the door behind him and turned to look at Galbatorix, with an oddly relieved expression. '_Now_ you look like yourself again,' he said. 'Almost. You know, without your beard and with your hair all cut off, you look completely different. I only knew it was you from your voice.'

Galbatorix slumped into the chair by the fire. 'I feel so weak,' he mumbled.

'It's all right, Sire,' said Morzan, pulling up another chair and placing the food on the table for him. 'You'll be all right.'

'Morzan, _please_ just call me by my name.'

Morzan looked surprised, but not unhappy. 'It didn't seem to bother you before.'

Galbatorix massaged his temples. 'It did. It never stopped bothering me. I just never said anything. I'm so tired, Morzan. I'm tired of being King. I'm tired of always being responsible for things. I'm tired of being blamed for everything. For the last eighty-five years, I've felt like I didn't belong to myself any more. I belonged to…' he looked toward the window, toward the city beyond. 'To them,' he said simply. 'And every time someone called me "Sire"… it was like they were taking my name from me as well. Even you.'

Morzan didn't know what to say. 'I'm sorry, Galbatorix.'

'Don't be. It's not your fault. I just… never mind. It doesn't matter.'

There was silence for a time. Morzan pushed the food toward him. 'Here. Eat something.'

Galbatorix didn't need any further prompting. He picked up a hunk of bread and bit into it ravenously. He ate with none of his usual fastidiousness; the more he ate, the deeper he realised his hunger truly was. But after all… he hadn't eaten for a week.

Morzan stayed there silently while he ate, just watching him. There was a strange expression in his eyes, hiding behind his concern. Was it hope? Galbatorix didn't know. When he had finished, Morzan found a flask of wine and poured two cups. 'Here, try some. It's good.'

Galbatorix accepted it and drank, sighing as the warmth of it spread through his body. 'Oooh, that's better. What?'

Morzan was staring at the ground, his big hands clenching.

'What is it?' Galbatorix persisted.

Morzan looked up at last, red-eyed. 'I thought you were dead,' he said quietly. 'Everyone did. The whole city was looking for you.'

Galbatorix winced. 'I'm such an idiot. How in the world am I going to explain this to them? And they've had to cope without me for… did you say a _week?'_

'You don't understand, Galbatorix,' said Morzan. 'It's not just that you were gone. I mean I…'

'What is it, Morzan? Go on. Say what you're thinking.'

Morzan hesitated, and then looked away. 'Forget it. It doesn't matter.'

Galbatorix put down his wine. 'Yes it does. It matters, Morzan. So tell me. Please.'

Morzan picked up his own cup and drank deeply. He put it down again on the table, and stared at it for some time. Then, in a low voice, he said; 'Your letter got to me only a day after I'd arrived in Gil'ead. I just came up to my office that morning, and it was waiting for me. And when I saw it, I had this… feeling. I dunno what it was. It was just a feeling. Like I'd known it was coming. And I read it, and… well, you know what it said. Tuomas dead, in Dras-Leona, and you were there too, and you were asking me to come. And it didn't feel like it was just… for Tuomas. I read it and I knew you needed me. It was just like it was in the war. You were calling me because you needed me with you, to protect you. So I came here, as fast as I could. I didn't even stop to pack. I just ran. And then, when I got here, you were gone. And I didn't know what to do any more.' Morzan sighed and gulped down the rest of his wine. 'It's stupid. I know.'

'No it isn't,' said Galbatorix.

Morzan started to pour himself some more wine. 'It's… I nearly panicked,' he said in a rush. 'I was furious. I shouted at people. I punched that Lord Aisling idiot in the face. I went around the whole castle, asking people where you were, and just – I couldn't believe that they'd let you vanish. Right from out of the castle! Tuomas was dead, and Shruikan was in hysterics. He wouldn't do anything except fly over the city, all day and night, calling for you. The people were terrified. I went into the city too. I went all over the place with guards, searching people's houses and asking questions, but no-one had seen you since you were in the Cathedral that morning. It was like you'd just stopped existing. We put up posters. Everyone was on the lookout. I promised a Lordship to anyone who could find you. But nothing worked. I came back here an' wrote a letter to Vander, to tell him what had happened. It won't have gotten to him yet. And then I just… waited. I couldn't sleep. I just sat in my room every night, listening to Shruikan calling. Some of the nobles came to me and said we should send a message to Urû'baen. Declare you dead and choose a new King. They wanted me to do it.' He laughed wildly. 'Me! King Morzan! I sent them packing. I said I wouldn't do anything until we found you. Dead or alive. And Shruikan finally came back here, and I got him to talk to me. It wasn't easy, but he told me you were alive. He said you were hurt, and that you'd been kidnapped by rebels, but… which rebels? Where? I didn't know. I just sat down to try and think it over, and I started to feel like an idiot. Like I'd tried everything, but I was just too stupid to do what I should do. I knew I'd failed you. I kept thinking that if you were here, you'd know what to do, and then I realised…'

'Realised what?' said Galbatorix.

Morzan looked him in the eye, for almost the first time since their reunion. 'I realised I missed you,' he said simply.

Those five words took Galbatorix completely by surprise. 'You _missed_ me?'

Morzan nodded. 'I did.'

Galbatorix was silent for a while. 'Why?' he asked at length.

'You weren't always just my master, Galbatorix,' said Morzan. 'You were my friend. You know…' he looked at the ground. 'For a long time I thought I hated you. After what happened… I couldn't look at you without remembering it. I dreamed about it. All the time. It was driving me mad, and I blamed you for it. But when you vanished… when I thought of you out there somewhere, lying dead with no-one to care for you, and when I saw how everyone acted… how _cold_ they were about it… how people cared that the King was gone, but they didn't care about _you_… and I thought that, if I died, it would be exactly the same. Who'd care that I was gone? Vander? Would you care? I didn't know then, and I still don't know, but I wanted you back. And I didn't want my King back. I wanted my friend.'

_It was the same for me. I missed you too, Morzan. I missed you so badly I wanted to die. _Galbatorix ached to say it. He longed to say it. But the words would not come. He struggled with himself, trying to make himself speak, but he could not do it, could not look at Morzan, could not reach out to his friend, could not break through the veil of silence that had been between them for so long.

The silence drew out, cold and empty, smothering that moment of warmth and trust even as it struggled to exist.

The hope in Morzan's eyes faded. 'What happened to you, Sire?' he said. 'Where were you?'

Despair thudded into Galbatorix's chest. 'I don't know, Morzan. I honestly don't know.'

'Shruikan said you went into the city to try and find the rebels yourself,' said Morzan. 'I can't understand why. Why did you go out there on your own, Sire? You didn't even tell anyone you were going.'

'It was for Tuomas,' said Galbatorix. 'I had to find the people who killed him. I wanted to do it myself.'

'But _why?_ And what happened out there?'

'I found them,' said Galbatorix. 'Mostly by accident.'

'You found the Varden?'

'Yes. I… uh… joined them. But then for some reason they decided they didn't want me. I can't think why. After all, I'm something of an expert when it comes to stabbing people in the back.' His voice was full of bitterness.

'You mean you… there's members of the Varden here in the city?'

'Yes. I went to a tavern, in disguise. That's why all my hair is gone. I cut it off and got rid of my beard, so people wouldn't recognise me. They don't know me so well here, and besides, who'd expect to see the King drinking in a tavern? I just wanted to listen to people talking. Find out what the feeling is with them. I pretended to be a rebel myself. Made some remarks about how Tuomas had it coming, and so on.'

'What happened?'

'I got thrown out. But it turned out there were three members of the Varden there as well. They'd heard me, and they followed me out of the tavern and asked me if I wanted to join them. I said yes, so they took me to their hideout.'

'You did what? Were you out of your mind?'

'No. Just stupid. I thought I could bluff my way through it, and if I had to I could fight my way out with magic. But it seems I'm not too good at fighting after being hit over the head.'

'Did they realise who you were?'

'No. I'd hidden my gedwëy ignaesia with magic. See?' he held out his palm, which, sure enough, was still unmarked. He muttered a few words, and the silver circle faded back into existence. 'Unfortunately, I didn't think to hide my tattoo. I said something that made them suspicious, and then when they saw I had the King's symbol on my shoulder it turned ugly. They started to threaten me with violence unless I told the truth, so I decided it was time to go.'

'Then what happened?'

'Then something hit me from behind. Put a nice ding in my skull, too.' Galbatorix pulled a disgusted face. 'The mighty rider forgets to keep his back to a wall in the middle of a fight. I'm losing my edge, Morzan. I got knocked out by a handful of grubby would-be revolutionaries.'

'So they took you captive,' said Morzan. 'How did you escape?'

'They didn't. To be honest, I've no idea what they did to me after that. Are you _sure_ I was gone for a week?'

'Yes, Sire. A week as of yesterday, actually. What do you mean you don't know where you were? You can't have been unconscious that long.'

Galbatorix shrugged helplessly. 'All I know is that, a few hours ago, someone pulled me out of the canal. They must have dumped me in there.'

'But that doesn't make any sense,' said Morzan. 'They hit you over the head and threw you in the canal… a _week_ ago? How is that possible?'

Galbatorix was silent for a time, thinking deeply. But an answer came to him eventually. 'I think,' he said. 'I think… I think I know.'

Morzan waited expectantly.

Galbatorix put his hands over his face. 'Morzan, I… I never told you this. I never told anyone. But there's…' he stopped, wrestling with himself. 'No,' he said at last, partly to himself. 'I can't lie. I owe you the truth. I owed you all the truth a long time ago.'

'What is it, Galbatorix?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix couldn't bear to look him in the eye. 'What happened that night in Ilirea,' he almost whispered. 'What I made you do.'

Utter silence fell. Neither of them looked at each other, but both of them were sharing the same memory. In the air around them, unheard except by the ears of the mind, were the echoes of old screams that had never quite died away. The voices of the dead, still singing their fatal song.

'The spell,' said Galbatorix. 'The spell we used to save my life. It was not… just an ordinary healing spell. It was dark elvish magic. Forbidden magic. Nobody had ever used it and survived. It was the spell of true immortality.'

Morzan stared at him.

'The spell was meant to give the one who cast it new powers,' said Galbatorix. 'Powers no-one else could ever have. If it worked, it would make him unkillable. Forever.'

'The spell failed,' said Morzan. 'The circle was broken. You know that.'

'I thought it had failed,' said Galbatorix. 'I was wrong. It worked, Morzan. The spell worked.' He started to unfasten the front of his robe. 'That's why I haven't aged. That's why I survived _this_.' He pulled his robe aside, exposing the deep, twisted scar that went down his side, from his shoulder to his hip. 'This wound was so deep it exposed all the ribs on that side of my body,' he said, covering the scar. 'Vrael gave it to me when we fought that last time. He killed me before I killed him. But I didn't fall down. I got up again, and I killed him while the whole left side of my body was gushing blood. I didn't even notice until after he was dead and I realised I couldn't pick my sword up because my hands were too slippery.'

'It doesn't mean anything,' said Morzan. 'It's just… you're just tough. That's all.'

'There's more,' said Galbatorix. 'I… five days after you left Ilirea. While we were starting to build Urû'baen. I… I tried to kill myself. I took poison. Enough to kill ten men. I lay down in my hammock and died. And then… I woke up the next morning, and I felt fine. I tried again a year later. I cut my wrists. It didn't work. I couldn't die and stay dead. The magic is in me, Morzan. It's keeping me alive. The spell worked. I died again last week. Either when they hit me on the head, or when they threw me in the canal. I must have been in the water for a week, unable to wake up. And then when someone pulled me out, I revived.' His expression twisted. 'What we did in Ilirea didn't save me. It killed me. It destroyed who I used to be forever. That night, before we cast the spell, I told you that nothing could save me. I was right. There's no hope for me any more, Morzan. I've lost. I betrayed you, along with everyone else. I destroyed everything we fought for by my cowardice and my ambition. I was too afraid to die. So I sacrificed the only things I had left that had any worth in them.' He fell silent at last, his hands clasped together, eyes blank and dead.

Morzan stared at him for a long time, unspeaking. He made a move to get up and leave, but turned back, his hands clenching, unable to decide whether to stay or to go. He started to speak, and stopped, started again, but stammered back into silence. His face was full of fear and bewilderment and then, as he watched the silent Galbatorix, rage.

But then, quietly, as he started to stand up, Idün spoke to him. _'No. No, Morzan. Don't go. You must speak. Say something. Anything.'_

Morzan sat down again, and a strange calm came over him. 'Is that why you did what you did?' he said. 'Going into the city alone? Because you knew?'

Galbatorix nodded wordlessly.

'Shruikan says you did it all the time back in Urû'baen,' Morzan went on. 'He said you used to disguise yourself and go out into the city at night, and just… talk to people. You weren't looking for rebels then, were you? You were doing it before the Varden even existed. I don't understand. What were you looking for?'

Galbatorix did not answer.

'Tell me,' said Morzan. 'Tell me the truth, Galbatorix. You owe it to me.'

But Galbatorix only shook his head.

Morzan grabbed him by the shoulder. '_Tell me_, Galbatorix,' he said again. 'Why are you so afraid to just tell me why?'

Galbatorix looked up at last, and the deadness in his eyes was gone. The blank coldness had vanished, and at long last Morzan saw the man he had called his friend looking out of them.

'I wanted to… I wanted to talk to people,' Galbatorix said huskily. 'Just to talk. I wanted people to look at me like an ordinary person. I wanted… I was lonely,' he said at last. 'I was looking for friends. I see that now.'

A gleam appeared in Morzan's eye. 'Then you're a fool, Galbatorix Taranisäii,' he said quietly. 'You're an even bigger fool than I am.'

'I know,' Galbatorix snapped. 'I knew it all along. I just… couldn't help it.'

Morzan shook his head. 'I used to think you always knew everything, but you don't. You ain't lost, Galbatorix. You never were. And you ain't dead, either. You think _I_ wasn't lonely? You think _I_ didn't miss having friends? I did. I was angry with you, but I missed you. And you missed me. Didn't you?'

And, at last, Galbatorix nodded. 'Yes,' he said. 'I did. Every day.'

'You should have told me,' said Morzan.

But Galbatorix shook his head. 'No. I couldn't. I can't. I…'

'Why not?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix looked at him. 'How could you _want_ me to say I missed you? Why in the gods' names would you even care? Morzan – I'm a monster. I destroy everything I touch, and I always have. I destroyed the riders. I destroyed my friends. I destroyed your life. You have to stay away from me, Morzan, for your own sake. If I had to see you die because of me, it would tear me apart.'

'So you'd rather spend the rest of eternity alone?' said Morzan.

'If it would protect you from me, then yes,' said Galbatorix. 'I would. I'm not worth it, Morzan. I never was.'

Morzan stood up. 'Why you…' he growled, sounding almost angry.

Galbatorix stood too. 'You should go,' he said. 'I have to… I have things to do.'

And then, to his amazement, Morzan grinned. A wide, joyful, spontaneous grin, that stripped the years away from him in an instant. 'You idiot,' he said. 'You total… no. It ain't you, it's me. I can't believe I wasted eighty-five years of my life, waiting around for something to happen like it was gonna just fall into my lap. No…' he took hold of Galbatorix's shoulders. 'You really are a liar, you know,' he said. 'The worst one I ever knew. You sat there and lied right to my face. You've been lying to me for eighty years. An' I bet you've been lying to yourself as well.'

'Morzan, I-,'

'You haven't changed,' said Morzan. 'You haven't changed one damn bit. Nothing's changed. You're still a liar, and I'm still an idiot. I spent eighty years trying to find my best mate, and he was right there in front of me. You _do_ care. You cared all along.'

'Morzan-,' Galbatorix began, but his words were cut off almost instantly. Morzan pulled him into a fierce embrace, holding onto him as if he would never let him go. And as Galbatorix hugged him back, the walls he had built inside himself and kept in place for the span of a mortal lifetime broke down. He clung onto Morzan, not caring that the other rider's muscular arms were close to crushing him, and felt a wave of emotion go rushing through him – warm and vibrant and wonderfully alive – free at last.

Morzan, holding onto him, felt him start to shake. He realised that he was sobbing, and let go of him. 'Galbatorix? Are you all right?'

Galbatorix smiled shakily and wiped the tears off his face. 'I think…'

'Yes? What is it?'

'I think I'm happy,' said Galbatorix.

Morzan laughed aloud and slapped him on the back. 'Me too, mate. Me too. But it's all right now. I'm not leaving you again.'

'But what about Gil'ead?'

'Screw Gil'ead. You need me here.'

'But duty-,'

'Yeah. Duty. It's my duty to keep you safe. I'm gonna stay with you and make sure you stop with those idiot wanderings-off of yours before you get hurt again. Honestly, Galbatorix, you ain't got no self-preservation instincts. What'd you do without me around to drag you out of trouble, huh?'

Galbatorix smiled ruefully. 'Yes… I suppose you're right there.'

''Course I am,' said Morzan. 'Now… you just get some rest, all right? I'm gonna go write to Vander and tell him you're safe. An' then I'll put the word out that you've been found.'

'What will we tell them, though?' said Galbatorix.

'Nothing. Just that you're back. Let 'em figure it out for themselves. Who are they to question you? Where you go is your business. Even if it's the bottom of the canal.'

Galbatorix chuckled. 'Yeah, all right. But we can't stay here too long. We've got work to do.'

'Where?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix lost his smile. 'I found out a few things before I, uh, went for a swim. The Varden killed Tuomas. They're operating here, and in Urû'baen too. Tell Vander to be careful. They could be hiding in Feinster as well. They'll well-organised and well-led – their leader is itinerant, just like we used to be. And they're not operating on their own. The elves are involved.'

Morzan's face fell. 'Oh shit. Not the bloody elves again. I _knew_ it.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I'm afraid so. I'm going to go to Ellesméra to talk to Islanzadí. She must know something. And she's going to tell me whether she wants to or not.'

'Yeah,' Morzan growled. 'And I'm gonna be right there with you, mate.'


	8. Plots and Governors

Chapter Eight

Plots and Governors

Once Morzan had departed, Galbatorix relaxed by the fire for a while and drank some more wine. He didn't usually like to drink much alcohol, but just now he conceded that he probably needed it. And besides, this was an excellent vintage.

He let himself soak up the warmth of the fire and the wine, and sighed, shuddering a little with suppressed emotion. He kept thinking of the joy that had been in Morzan's eyes, and he knew that he too should feel happy. But he didn't. Even as their conversation replayed itself in his head, he found himself hating himself more savagely than he had done in a long time. 'You're an idiot,' he mumbled aloud, staring into the rich red depths of the wine.

It was his tiredness that had done it, and his fear. His ordeal in the canal had weakened him, made him vulnerable. He had fought with himself to remain calm, to keep himself under control, but his strength had failed him and before he knew what was happening he was telling Morzan everything, letting the words gush out of him like blood.

Galbatorix put down his wine, and cradled his head in his hands. How could he have been so cruel? _Monster,_ his mind whispered to him. _Monster!_

'What have I done?' he whispered. 'Gods, what have I done?'

He had broken one of the last promises he had left. Broken it out of selfishness. On the day he had been crowned, he had made a promise to himself, and he had kept it for eighty-five years. After the disaster, when he had seen the misery of his friends and believed it was his fault – _known_ it was his fault – he had vowed that he would never hurt them again. So he had sent them away. Even though he had longed for their company, though he had known he would be utterly alone without them, he had ordered them to leave the ruins of Ilirea. They had dispersed to the far corners of the country and taken up their new duties, and he had ignored any and all opportunities for them to return. He had kept his letters to them brief and formal, and made sure that all their visits to Urû'baen – and all his own visits to the cities they ruled – were cut short. On the occasions when they were alone together, he bit down on whatever it was he wanted to say, and lapsed into a silence he would not break for any reason. Even when they spoke to him directly, as Tuomas had, when they tried to make him speak to them as a man and not a King, he had resisted. And when they had died, he had not cried until he was alone.

But now… now he knew he had failed once more. He had succumbed and reached out to Morzan for the friendship he had longed for. He had finally let his true feelings show. And he knew that if he tried to push him away now, it would only hurt him again.

_Your fault!_ he raged internally. _How could you do that to him? You're weak! You're _weak!

Shruikan's presence rose up in his mind. _'Stop that,'_ the dragon's voice growled.

Galbatorix forced himself to calm down a little. _'Hello, Shruikan,'_ he said gruffly. _'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let you hear me.'_

'_You're not weak,'_ said Shruikan.

'_Yes I am, Shruikan. I'm weak, and I'm pathetic, and I'm a liar.'_

Shruikan laughed mockingly. _'Weak. Is that so? So you're saying I chose a weak man to be my partner? Are you saying a weak man managed to build an empire and keep it safe for this long?'_ he snorted. _'Humans, you're all the same. Even at your age, you're still acting like a hatchling.'_

'_I'm not perfect, Shruikan. I never claimed to be.'_

'_Quite. And I'm tired of having to point out things that are right in front of your eyes. You were weak to send them away, Galbatorix, not to want them back. You were only weak because you were frightened to tell them the truth.'_

'_No. I wanted to protect them.'_

'_By making them think you didn't care about them any more? By splitting them up so they couldn't comfort each other? _That_ was protecting them?'_

'_Yes, Shruikan. It was.'_

'_Protecting them from what?'_

'_From me.'_

'_Well.'_ Shruikan's voice was almost gentle. _'Shouldn't that have been their choice?'_

Galbatorix said nothing.

'_I told you you needed friends,'_ said Shruikan. _'Morzan wants to stay with you, and you want him to stay, so for the gods' sakes, why not let him?'_

'_I have to send him back to Gil'ead,'_ said Galbatorix. _'I have no choice. The people need us to do our duty for them.'_

'_Yes. But you can't put yourself last forever. Think about that.'_

'_I-,'_

'_Rest now,'_ Shruikan said quietly. _'You need it.'_

Galbatorix got out of his chair, and walked rather unsteadily toward the bed. He sat on it, and picked up the crown and his ring from the bedside table. He slipped the ring back onto his finger, and turned the crown over in his hands, watching the light play over it. He had work to do. He had to go out into the castle and show the people he was alive. He had to start planning his trip to Ellesméra, and choose a new governor for Dras-Leona, and inform the city guard of everything he'd learned from the rebels. A million and one things awaited his attention. He started to get up, but the room was spinning around him, and he gave up and lay down on top of the blankets, still holding the crown in one hand. _I'll just lie down for a while,_ he thought.

Two minutes later, he was asleep.

Galbatorix slept far longer than he realised, and deeply as well – so deeply that he did not dream. He lay like a dead man for hours, his still face pale and worn with exhaustion, marked out as alive only by his faint breathing and the slight rising and falling of his chest.

He woke up feeling much better, and got up off the bed, yawning widely. His bare feet hit the floor, and he stretched. His limbs were a little stiff, but pain-free. It was as if nothing had happened to him at all.

He found some clean water in a jug, and splashed his face with it before crossing to the window to look out. It was still daylight, but the sun was nearing the horizon. He had slept all day. He swore under his breath and ran to pick up his boots. They had dried in the warmth from the fire, which had more or less burnt itself out by now, and he put them on and hurried over to the mirror.

What he saw in it gave him a little shock, and for a moment he stood and stared stupidly at it, trying to convince himself that the reflection was, indeed, himself. His hacked-off hair was a horrendous mess, and there was dirt ingrained in the skin on his face. He looked like… well, like someone who'd just been pulled out of a canal, actually.

His reflection glowered at him. There was no way he would let anyone see him like this while knowing who he was.

He rubbed the gedwëy ignaesia on his palm with his other thumb, thinking. Once he was satisfied that he had the answer, he held his hand over his head and said; '_Skör, ávöxtr!_'

Magic glowed around his hand, and then moved onto his scalp. A few seconds passed, and then he began to feel a strange prickly, itchy sensation above his ears. It spread to cover the top of his head, and as he watched in the mirror, his hair slowly but surely grew back. It reached down over his forehead, down the back of his neck, past his ears and down toward his shoulders, just as thick and curly as always. He let the magic keep on flowing, until his cherished mane had been restored, and then he finally withdrew his hand and let the magic cease. He peered through the curtain of hair that was now hanging over his face, and was satisfied. All it needed now was a little styling… he found a pair of scissors and carefully trimmed the hair away from his face until he was left with a more respectable fringe. Not exactly even, but it would do for the time being. He was looking more like himself already. That only left his beard.

He scratched his chin. It was so strange to feel smooth skin there; he'd worn a beard for most of his life, and had been very proud of it. In the old days it had been forbidden for male riders to grow beards. Along with the taboo against eating meat, it was just another way in which the old order had forced human riders to give up their human ways and begin trying to emulate the elves.

Galbatorix's reflection sneered. Elves were incapable of growing beards, and he had often thought that they were probably jealous of this strange ability humans had. He'd made a point of never becoming a vegetarian, and from the day he had become a rider he had constantly fought back against all attempts to turn him elvish. At first it had merely been a matter of pride. Later, though, it had been rather different.

'_Skegg, koma aptr._'

The spell worked, and moments later his chin was bristling with hair. He shaved away everything but the patch on his chin, and trimmed that back into the pointed goatee he'd had before.

Once he'd finished, he looked at himself in the mirror and could not resist smiling a little. He was himself again. It was uncanny. Satisfied, he gave his hair a quick comb, strapped White Violence to his back, put on the crown and left the bedroom with a new spring in his step.

Morzan had not been enjoying himself much. Once he'd left Galbatorix to rest, he went up to Tuomas' old office and laboriously composed a letter to Vander. He began by saying that Galbatorix had been found alive and well, described the information that he had brought with him, and finished by outlining their intention to go to Ellesméra and interrogate Queen Islanzadí. Once he had sealed the letter and sent it on its way to Feinster, he went to his own quarters and cleaned himself up before he went to break the news to the city's various nobles and officials. He didn't relish the idea of tracking them all down individually, so he sent messengers to find them and summon them to the audience chamber so he could give them the information personally. He didn't want to cause too much of a stir straight away, since it was plain Galbatorix needed to be left in peace for a while and would probably prefer to handle the details himself. For now, all Morzan had to do was privately assure them that all was well and that the King had returned.

Easier said than done. Half of the messengers came back to tell him that the people they'd been sent to find were unable to come at such short notice and were respectfully asking for an hour or so's grace. Others did come, and Morzan was forced to tell them to wait around for a while. He offered them lunch out of courtesy, which of course he had to attend as well, and he spent approximately three hours in the dining hall, chewing listelessly at his food and listening to the lords' talk about politics and their boring social lives. At least two of them made a point of not-so-subtly mentioning their unmarried daughters. Morzan was in no mood for these kinds of shenanigans, and rudely ignored them. The truth was that he had always enjoyed being rude to people like this. "Just because I live with them doesn't mean I have to let them like it" was how he'd once put it to Idün.

At long last, just when the sun was beginning to set, Lord Aisling made an appearance. Morzan had him shown into the audience chamber with the other nobles – privately deciding that those still absent could go to hell as far as he was concerned. He'd had enough.

When Aisling entered, Morzan was sitting on the throne which had been placed there for Galbatorix to use. He was wearing a fine red tunic and trousers, and Zar'roc was lying across his lap – a gesture which in these situations symbolised a time of trouble.

Lord Aisling glanced around at the other assembled lords – none of whom had been provided with chairs – and bowed low. 'My Lord Morzan. I am terribly sorry for the delay, and I assure you that, had I been able, I would have-,'

Morzan waved him into silence. 'Shut it, Aisling. I don't have time t'waste with your blathering. So put a sock in it an' listen.'

Aisling fell silent at once, though he wasn't quite able to hide his indignation.

Morzan smirked internally. 'Good,' he said. 'Now then, you lot… thanks for showin' up. Hope it wasn't too much trouble,' he added, with heavy sarcasm.

'Not at all, I assure you,' Aisling said at once.

Morzan knew he was lying. He was perfectly aware that most of the nobility at large regarded him with contempt – after all, he had no noble blood of his own, and had been born as the son of a drunken bricklayer in Dras-Leona's poor quarter, a very long time ago. But he relished the fact that they resented him and were unable to do anything about it, and made a point of letting his voice be even rougher and less refined than it usually was.

'That's good to hear,' he said. 'Anyway, seems I got some news for yeh. An' I can promise it's important, or I wouldn't've called yeh in 'ere like this.'

'Is it, perhaps, regarding the suggestion we put to you two days ago, my Lord?' Lord Aisling suggested.

Morzan glared at him. 'Look, I ain't gonna tell you again, Aisling. The answer's no, an' it's gonna stay no until after yeh grandkids are dead. Got that?'

'I assure you that no offense was meant, my Lord Morzan,' said Aisling. 'Our proposal was merely what we had judged to be best for the good of the Empire. Of course we do not doubt that you know better than we do…'

'Too right you can,' Morzan interrupted. 'An' I don't think the King would've been very happy about it either. He's been gone, what, seven days-,'

'Eight days, my Lord.'

'-Eight days,' Morzan corrected, glaring at him. 'An' you're already plotting to put someone else on the throne.'

Aisling glanced around at his fellow nobles. 'My Lord… the Empire needs a ruler. It is only common sense.'

'Yeah, an' you'd be very happy to have one who you thought was enough of a moron to let you tell him what to do, wouldn't you?' said Morzan. 'Eh? Wipe that look off'f yeh face, Aisling, before I wipe it off for yeh. You ain't foolin' nobody.' He pointed accusingly at him. 'Yer'd like that, wouldn't yeh? You don't like it that the Empire's ruled by riders. You nobles are all the same. Yer granddad was doin' exactly the same thing fifty years before you was born. With the old order gone, it was time for you lot to step up an' take over. Well not in my lifetime you ain't. You've bin lettin' rebels get into this city behind Lord Tuomas' back. Hopin' they'd manage to get rid of him for yeh. I wouldn't be surprised if some of you weren't helpin' 'em yerselves. An' now he's gone, yer hopin' one of you lot'll be given his job. An' the instant the King goes missin', yer runnin' around, tryin' to turn it your way. Eh? Put that idiot Lord Morzan on the throne, an' he'll be so grateful he'd do anythin' you wanted 'im to. Have I got that right?'

Aisling didn't answer.

Morzan picked up Zar'roc and pointed it at the old lord, the tip hovering an inch away from his throat. 'I said, have I got that right, Lord Aisling? I ain't hearin' you say anythin'.'

'I assure you, my Lord,' said Aisling, 'We have been doing nothing of the kind.' He had gone pale and was trembling slightly – probably as much from rage as fear. 'We, like you, are duty-bound to protect the interests of the Empire and its people. We worked with Lord Tuomas to help Dras-Leona prosper, and like him we did everything in our power to stamp out any sign of rebellion. We remained loyal to the King, as our families have always done. And we were not seeking to replace him. We merely… wished to be certain of your willingness to do what is needed for the good of the Empire.'

Morzan paused for a moment, and then withdrew his sword. 'Well, maybe yeh tellin' the truth, an' maybe yeh ain't. But you'd better be sure that you meant what yeh said. My loyalty's to the King, an' unless yours is too…' he trailed off meaningfully.

'We have done all we could to help you find him, my Lord,' another noble put in. 'We are as concerned for his safety as you are. But a week with no word of him… it is time to face the inevitable.'

'I suggest you visit the Cathedral, my Lord,' said the chief priest, who had answered the summons along with his two offsiders. 'Perhaps the grace of the Three Peaks may offer you a revelation and help you choose your path.'

Morzan had grown bored with this. 'You were a lot of help, Annointed One,' he said, acknowledging the priest with a tilt of his head. 'An' I'll be sure to tell the King about it. As for the rest of yeh… seems these mighty efforts of yours din't do much to help, because none of yeh found him. Doesn't really matter, though.'

Lord Aisling glanced at his fellows. 'I beg your pardon, my Lord?'

Morzan paused, savouring the moment. 'I meant it seems the King didn't need your help much. Din't need mine either. He's back.'

Silence fell.

'I… uh… I don't quite understand, my Lord,' said Aisling.

Morzan sighed. 'The King's come back,' he said. 'He's been found.'

There were gasps from the assembled nobles.

'Are you sure?' said the chief priest.

'No,' Morzan said sarcastically. 'There's dozens of Kings hanging around in the city, didn't you hear? Yes of course I'm sure, you lumphead. He's alive. I've spoken to him. Just a few hours ago.'

'When did this happen?' Aisling demanded. 'Where? How?'

'Shruikan found him,' said Morzan. 'In the city. He brought him back here, and I went up to the roost to meet him. He's perfectly fine. He asked me to break the news to you.'

'Where is he now?'

'He's in his room, sleeping,' said Morzan. 'He'll be down when he's ready.'

'And he's unhurt?'

'That's right,' said Morzan. 'So let's not go to thinkin' too much about finding someone else to take his place, eh?'

There was a muttering and some nervous shifting and glances from the nobles.

'This is… rather unexpected, my Lord,' Aisling said eventually. 'Are you quite sure that… I mean to say… we had nearly given up hope. So the King has returned of his own accord?'

'Yeah,' said Morzan. 'He's got a way of doing that. Sometimes I get the feeling he enjoys it.'

'And…' Aisling had the decency to look embarrassed. 'You are really quite sure that it's him?'

'Aisling, from what I know, if it barks like a dog and looks like a dog, then it's a dog,' said Morzan. 'He looks like the King, he sounds like the King an' he moves like the King, an' I think you can trust me to know him when I see him. Got that?'

'May we see him?' said the chief priest.

'Not until he decides to show up,' said Morzan.

'And when will that be?' the priest persisted.

'You in some sort of hurry?' said Morzan.

'Well, it is merely that…'

'So now yer sayin' I'm a liar, are you?' said Morzan.

'No, not at all, but we simply-,'

'-Reckon I'm off my rocker,' Morzan finished.

'We think nothing of the sort,' said Aisling. 'We only wish to-,'

'-See some proof that I'm not making it up,' said Morzan. He was deliberately being obtuse now. Watching them get progessively more annoyed was far too entertaining to resist.

Lord Aisling gave up. 'If that is how you wish to see it, my Lord, then yes. We wish to see some proof.'

'So a rider's word suddenly ain't worth it any more,' said Morzan. 'That it?'

Aisling was going rather red in the face. 'Lord Morzan-,'

The sound of a low, dry laugh echoed in the room. 'Oh, stop teasing them, would you?' said a voice.

The nobles stopped dead, looking around in confusion.

The voice had come from behind Morzan's seat. And, as they watched, a shadow detached itself from the wall and came into the light.

Galbatorix, robed and bearded once more, the crown gleaming on his forehead, and a hint of amusement showing in his black eyes. He appeared suddenly and silently, as if he had suddenly faded into existence, standing beside Morzan and watching them, arms folded.

Several of the nobles cried out in shock. Then, panicking slightly, they knelt.

'Sire!' Aisling exclaimed. 'Dear gods in the sky!'

Morzan stood up and, with rather more presence of mind, bowed his head to Galbatorix. 'Your seat, Sire,' he said, motioning toward the throne.

Galbatorix sat down on it. 'Thankyou, Lord Morzan.'

Morzan, smirking, took up position behind and to the right of the throne, resting the point of his sword on the ground by his boots.

'So.' Galbatorix sat back comfortably and rested one long leg on the other. 'How have you been coping without me, my Lords?'

The chief priest was the first to recover. He stood up, straightening his clothes. 'Sire,' he said. 'The Three Peaks have blessed us with your return.'

'Thankyou, Annointed One. How are the repairs to the Cathedral going?'

'Quite well, Sire. The stonemasons say they can restore the doorframe within less than a month, and several of the city's best carpenters are at work on a new set of doors. The Cathedral will soon be back to its former glory.'

'Excellent,' said Galbatorix. 'And have the rest of you got anything to report? Have you captured the people responsible for Lord Tuomas' death yet, by any chance?'

'Sadly, we have not, Sire,' said Lord Aisling. 'Though we have done everything in our power, the traitors have evaded us.'

'Perhaps they evaded you, but they have not evaded me,' said Galbatorix. 'Tell someone to send the captain of the city guard to me. I have an assignment for him.'

'Yes, Sire,' said Lord Aisling.

'Incidentally,' said Galbatorix, fixing them all with a dreadful stare, 'I appreciate your concern over the royal succession. If it will set your minds at ease, let me assure you that I have already reached a decision in that regard and written my instructions down in full. The documents are at Urû'baen and can be read after my death. No doubt we can all be relieved that the matter is resolved. I wouldn't want to subject any of you to any undue stress.'

Aisling went slightly red. 'If I may ask, Sire…'

Galbatorix picked a stray hair off his robe. 'By all means, go ahead.'

'Where have you been, Sire?' said Lord Aisling.

'I have been… busy,' Galbatorix said evasively. 'I apologise for my absence. I did not intend to be gone as long as I was. However, it seems Lord Morzan has been doing an excellent job of keeping the city stable.' He glanced sideways at Morzan, who caught his eye and looked amused. 'I would expect nothing less from my strong right arm. Now… Lord Morzan has assurred me that nothing particularly noteworthy happened while I was away, but do any of you have anything to report?'

'We have searched for the rebels, Sire,' said one lord. 'Though unfortunately without any positive results. Hundreds of homes were searched, but no arrests have been made, though we interrogated many people.'

'I see. Is there anything else?'

'Well… we did everything we could to try and find you, Sire,' said the chief priest. 'I myself spoke to the congregation on the morning after your disappearance, and extorted them to look for you. I offered a reward of a hundred gold pieces to Lord Morzan's offer of a lordship, and hundreds of the faithful responded to my call.'

'I am very pleased to hear it, Annointed One,' Galbatorix said gravely. 'I shall make a point of increasing the Empire's donations to the priesthood.'

'Thankyou, Sire.'

Galbatorix stifled a yawn. 'If that is all you have to tell me… then do not let me keep you, my Lords. I will see you again tomorrow, to announce the appointment of the new city governor. Until then, return to your homes. I am sorry for having kept you waiting.'

Lord Aisling bowed. 'I am overjoyed by your safe return, Sire,' he said, and left.

The others followed in ones and twos, though they cast some wary and nervous glances at Galbatorix as they did so.

Once the door had closed behind the last of them, Galbatorix sighed irritably. 'Idiots.'

Morzan snickered. 'That was brilliant.'

Galbatorix glanced at him, and finally allowed himself a slight smile. 'I hadn't done that in years.'

'You gave me a horrible fright. How long were you standing there?'

'I came in a little while before you got here. I'm not sure why I did that; I suppose I wanted to see if I still had my touch.'

'Well, s'no wonder you like to do your own spying,' said Morzan. 'I never met anyone else who could do that.'

'Yes, it's certainly very useful.'

'Well, yeah,' said Morzan. 'Remember how…' he smiled, a little sadly. 'You remember Vroengard, right?'

'Of course I do,' Galbatorix said quietly.

'Well, it sure came in useful there,' said Morzan. 'Saved my life. I don't reckon the others approved of it, you goin' in there yourself. But you were always like that, weren't you? You were always looking out for us. You used to say "if anyone should die to win the war, it should be me".'

Galbatorix chuckled. 'Yes, and then you said; "no, sir, it should be them who die". Couldn't argue with that.'

'S'true though, isn't it?' said Morzan. 'You never stopped taking care of us. You did all sorts of crazy things just to keep us safe. An' you haven't changed one bit. Now you're sneaking around and getting yourself into trouble for…' he waved a hand vaguely. 'For everyone in the whole damn Empire. Big job. Honestly, one day it's sneaking into a fortress to rescue my sorry hide, an' the next it's creeping around the city looking for rebels.'

'They didn't call me The Shadow That Walks for nothing,' said Galbatorix, with a hint of pride.

'Too right they didn't. So-,'

The door opened, and a group of guards came hurrying in. They saw Galbatorix, and knelt.

'Sire!' said their leader. 'I didn't believe it was true, but… I'm so glad to see you're alive.'

'Ah, Captain Teran. The very man I wanted to see. Lord Morzan tells me you did excellent work in the city while I was gone.'

'Not so excellent, Sire,' said the captain, standing up again. 'We failed to capture the rebels, or to find you.'

'But you did your best. Now I have some information and some instructions for you, so listen closely.'

Captain Teran waited.

'There is a small group of rebels operating in this city,' said Galbatorix. 'They call themselves the Varden. There are at least eight of them. I don't have any names, but they meet somewhere in the West End, most likely in a cellar or an old storeroom quite close to the canal. I don't know when they meet there, but I want you to organise a search of the West End. Check every single house, and arrest anyone who refuses to co-operate. I want that place found. Is that understood?'

'Yes, Sire. We'll begin at once.'

'Good. Also, I would like you to send some men to the canal, at the West End. There is a man called Edrick somewhere in the area. Find him, and bring him to me at once.'

'Yes, Sire.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'You may go, Captain.'

The guards departed, and Galbatorix stood up. 'Well, that's that sorted out. Shall we go and have something to eat?'

'Fine by me,' said Morzan.

They repaired to the dining hall, where some astonished servants brought them some food. Galbatorix shunned the fine chair at the head of the table, choosing to sit opposite Morzan instead. When he realised he was still wearing the crown, he took it off and stuffed it into an inside pocket of his robe.

'I dunno how you put up with that lot,' Morzan said as they ate. 'I don't talk to members of the nobility unless I have to.'

'Some of them are all right,' said Galbatorix. 'But that Lord Aisling…'

Morzan rolled his eyes. 'Oh yeah. No arguments there.'

'Sometimes I wonder if I should tell him what happened to his great-grandfather,' said Galbatorix. 'That might shut him up.'

Morzan sniggered. 'You should.'

'Tempting, but it probably wouldn't be very tactful.'

They sat in silence for a while.

'Look,' Galbatorix said eventually. 'About what I said earlier…'

Morzan looked up. 'Yes?'

Galbatorix paused, staring at his plate. 'I'm sorry about all that. I just lost control.'

Morzan looked slightly puzzled. 'I don't get it. You're not saying you didn't mean it, are you?'

'No. I won't pretend I'm not a liar, but I would never lie about that sort of thing. Especially not to you. But I shouldn't have said all that, and I'm sorry for it.'

'Don't apologise, Galbatorix,' said Morzan. 'There's nothing wrong about it. You said what you were thinking. Why hide it?'

'Because… because I don't deserve to,' said Galbatorix. 'Morzan… I've missed you and the others more than I can ever say. Every day I spent in Urû'baen on my own was a nightmare. Eighty years, on my own, with no-one to talk to except Shruikan… it was driving me insane. Sometimes my life felt so empty I wanted to die. I would have given anything to have you back with me. To have friends again. Sometimes I thought of just giving in and writing to you – asking you to come back. I wanted to bring you all back to me, and beg you to forgive me. But I never did. Every time I thought of it, I resisted. So I stayed in Urû'baen alone, trying to keep myself sane by hiding behind masks and false names. And every time I did see one of you, I said nothing. It was so hard, but…'

'But why?' said Morzan.

'Why? I already told you why. I'm an evil man, Morzan. I hid it from myself for so long, but I see it now. I'm a liar and a murderer, and I'm a despot as well. The people hate me. _Hate_ me. They call me the Mad King. I've heard what they say about me. About us. The old stories they told back during the war are everywhere. They say I destroyed the old riders because I was insane and power-hungry, and I duped you all into following me. They say I enslaved Shruikan with evil magic, that I wiped out the elves out of pure malice, after they had already surrendered to me, and that I drove the wild dragons to extinction. The truth is just… propaganda. The people call me evil. They're right.'

Morzan's fist slammed down onto the table with a crash. 'Stop it!' he almost shouted.

Galbatorix jerked a little in surprise.

'Damn it, Galbatorix, you're _not_ evil,' Morzan snarled. 'Stop it. Just stop it. I don't care what people say. It's bullshit.'

Galbatorix laughed bitterly. 'It's so magnificent, isn't it? After all we did. After everything that happened… nobody remembers that the enemy fought just as dishonourably as we did. Nobody remembers what happened at Vroengard, or at Gil'ead. No… we risked everything to give them victory, and this is our reward. We're two of the most hated men in the country. You do know that, don't you?'

'Yes, I know it,' said Morzan. 'It ain't easy to miss. But I don't care.' He pointed accusingly at Galbatorix. 'And I never want to hear you talk like that again. Ever. People say stuff. They always have. Who cares? They'll be sayin' somethin' different tomorrow. Why in the hell would you believe it? You're smarter than that.'

'But I have done evil things, Morzan. I've killed people when they were unarmed and helpless. I've lied and betrayed and massacred, I've broken oaths and violated laws that should never be violated. And I destroyed the riders. Don't you understand, Morzan? It's my fault. The eggs are never going to hatch. When we die, that's it. No more riders. No-one to carry on our legacy. We'll be remembered only as the traitors who took away one of the greatest orders ever to exist in Alagaësia.'

Morzan looked gloomy. 'Eighty years an' they just won't hatch. I don't understand it. It's like they're punishing us. But it wasn't your fault, sir. You didn't set out for it to happen. They brought it on themselves after what they did to you. To all of us. We only wanted to make things right.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'Just like Roland used to say, the best intentions can bring about the worst results. But what sort of legacy is that for us to leave behind? And it doesn't matter whether what people say is right. Don't you see what's happening, Morzan? You're being taken away from me. All of you. Ana, Orwyne, Tranah and now Tuomas as well. They want revenge for what we did. Even if we destroy the Varden, there'll be others. And it's because of me. They hate you because of me. Because you fought for me. Because you're loyal to me. If I'm evil, you're evil. If you stay with me, you'll die. I can feel it.'

Morzan looked uncertain for a moment, but then he laughed. 'You're daft, Galbatorix,' he said.

'Am I?'

Morzan patted him on the arm. 'I'm not goin' anywhere. I promise. We'll catch those sons of bitches who did Tuomas in. We'll find that leader of theirs and string him up by his nuts. An' we'll find new riders some day. If we're patient.'

'I wish I shared your optimism, Morzan.'

'I'll be optimistic for you, then,' said Morzan. 'But I promise you, no rebel is ever gonna put paid to me. You an' me together are unstoppable. Always were. And Vander… you should write to him. Bring him here to join us. To hell with Feinster, someone else can look after the border. If we're all together, we can protect each other. Otherwise… we'll just keep getting picked off.'

Finally, Galbatorix nodded. 'Yes. You're right, Morzan. Once again. You're not stupid, you know. You're wiser than I am. You could always see the truth of these things better than I could. As soon as we get back from Ellesméra, I'll write to Vander. We'll all go back to Urû'baen together.'

'I'd like that, sir,' said Morzan.

There was a knock on the door.

'Come in,' said Galbatorix.

It was Captain Teran. 'Sire, we have the man you wanted to see.'

Galbatorix stood up. 'Good. Bring him to me in the audience chamber.'

'Yes, Sire.'

Galbatorix glanced at Morzan, with a gleam in his eye that had not been there in a long time. 'Care to join me?'

'Sure thing,' said Morzan.

They made for the audience chamber. There, Galbatorix sat down on the throne and put on his crown, and Morzan took up position in his former spot, by his master's right hand.

Captain Teran appeared a few moments later. 'We've brought him, Sire.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Bring him in.'

Teran stood aside, and two other guards came in, dragging Edrick between them. The man looked terrified, and his wrists were chained together.

Galbatorix stood up. 'Why is he in chains?'

'He resisted, Sire,' Teran explained.

'I didn't tell you to _arrest_ him!'

Captain Teran looked confused. 'I… I'm very sorry, Sire, I misunderstood-,'

Galbatorix waved a hand at him. 'Take the chains off and get the hell out of here. Yes, all three of you. I can look after myself. Go on, get out before I throw you out.'

The captain departed hastily, and his men snapped the manacles off Edrick's wrists and hurried after him, closing the door behind them.

Galbatorix slumped back into his seat. 'Godsdamned idiots. I'm very sorry, Edrick. Come forward, please. I want to talk to you.'

Edrick obeyed. He was pale and trembling with fright, but he knelt and bowed his head. 'Sire… my King…'

'Please, stand up. And calm down. You're not in trouble.'

Edrick stood up. 'I… I swear to you, Sire, I know nothing about the rebels. I've committed no crime. I have a family…'

'I have no reason to be suspicious of you, Edrick,' said Galbatorix. 'I did not ask the guards to bring you here in chains, and I assure you they will be punished. I wanted them to give you a summons to come and see me, not place you under arrest. This is Lord Morzan of Gil'ead, my friend and fellow rider. You already know me.'

Edrick was giving him a strange look. 'Yes… Sire.'

Galbatorix smiled slightly. 'Do you recognise me?'

'I don't believe I…' Edrick shook his head. 'No, Sire.'

'You should. We met this morning. I believe I introduced myself to you after you pulled me out of the canal.'

Edrick's eyes widened. 'I – that was _you_, Sire?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I wasn't exactly looking my best at the time. Unfortunately, Shruikan came to get me before I could ask you where you lived.'

'I thought…' Edrick dared to smile. 'Forgive me, Sire, but I thought he'd eaten you.'

Galbatorix chuckled. 'Yes, well, being carried in a dragon's mouth isn't much fun, I'll admit. The claws aren't much better, though. Anyway… that is why I wanted to see you, Edrick. I wanted to thank you for helping me.'

'It was no trouble, Sire,' said Edrick. 'I would have done the same for anyone else, but for you especially.'

'Is that so?'

'Oh yes,' said Edrick, nodding vigorously. 'I'm a loyal subject of yours, Sire. Always have been. There's even a… no, I won't trouble you with it.'

'No, go ahead,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm interested.'

'Oh, well… there's a story my father told me once, that's all, Sire.'

'May I hear it?'

'Of course, Sire. My father told me that our family had a connection to you, Sire. Said we were descended from one of the Forsworn, Sire.'

'Roland!' Morzan exclaimed suddenly. 'Holy shit!'

Edrick nodded. 'That's him, my Lord. Roland Drasborn. My father said that his grandfather Roderick claimed to be Lord Roland's son by another one of the Forsworn, the Lady Orwyne.'

Galbatorix laughed aloud. 'Dear gods. I don't believe it! Morzan, you're right.' He looked at Edrick, taking in his craggy features, the faded freckles on his nose, the red hair and beard, the brown eyes and the stocky build. 'Edrick Drasborn… I _knew_ I recognised something about you.'

Edrick blinked. 'Sire?'

'You _are_ Lord Roland's descendant,' Galbatorix said with certainty. 'And Lady Orwyne's as well. You look like them. Roland's features, and his eyes, and Orwyne's red hair. I'd recognise them anywhere.'

Morzan shook his head. 'Well damn me. I never thought I'd see the day. I forgot Roland had a son, you know. Don't think I ever met him myself.'

'I saw him a few times,' said Galbatorix. 'Red-haired, just like his mother. Used to call people "lad", just like Roland. I remember Orwyne offered him a lordship, but he turned it down. Now then…' he looked at Edrick. 'Your story is true, Edrick, and you have proven yourself to be as loyal and courageous as your ancestor was. You have my gratitude.'

Edrick smiled bashfully. 'It's an honour to have helped you, Sire.'

Galbatorix inclined his head. 'Tell me about yourself, Edrick. Where do you live? How do you make a living?'

'I live by the canal, Sire,' said Edrick. 'I'm a trader; I own a barge and sell things from the deck, and sometimes I make a little money by transporting things for people, or by helping them travel a little faster through the city. It's a tough job, but I do it well enough, Sire.'

'So that's how you found me?'

'Yes, Sire. I was busy loading up the barge with crates, and I saw you float to the surface, so I dived in and pulled you out, Sire. I thought you were dead until you started coughing up water, Sire.' He hesitated. 'I can't help but be curious about how you got to be in there, Sire. But it's impertinent of me to ask. I'm sorry, Sire.'

'How I got in there is something for me to know,' said Galbatorix. 'Now… Edrick, forgive me, but I have another favour to ask of you.'

'I am yours to command, Sire.'

'Good. Now, have you told anyone else about this?'

'Yes, Sire. I'm sorry, Sire.'

'What did you tell them?'

'I told them I pulled a man out of the canal, Sire, and that the King's dragon carried him away before I found out who he was. They thought I was making it up, Sire. Said I must have been drinking. Sire.'

'I see. Well, I have to admit that would be a good story. But I would like to ask you not to tell it any more. In fact, never tell anyone about anything said in this room today. It's between the three of us, understand?'

'Absolutely, Sire. I won't breathe a word of it. Not even to my own children.'

'Excellent. I know I can rely on you, Edrick. And now, I have a question to ask you. But first… is there anything you would like? Some wine, perhaps, or something to eat?'

'I'm fine, Sire.'

'Very well then. Now… tell me, Edrick, would it make you unhappy if you had to leave the canal?'

'It would depend on where I left it to go, Sire,' Edrick said carefully.

'So you wouldn't be unhappy if you had to leave your old job?'

'Not particularly, Sire.'

'Well then,' said Galbatorix. 'Lord Edrick, I have an offer for you.'

'"Lord" Edrick, Sire?'

'Of course. Lord Morzan promised a lordship to whoever found me. A rider keeps his word. You are Lord Edrick now, and the title will pass to your sons and grandsons.'

'But… forgive me, Sire, but how can a Lord sell apples from a barge?'

'He can if he wants to, but I have a different occupation in mind for you. This city needs a new governor to take Lord Tuomas' place. If you're interested, Lord Edrick… I will give the governorship to you.'

Edrick's mouth fell open. 'Sire? I – this isn't – I mean to say – _governor of the city?_ Me?'

'You feel you are somehow unsuited to the task?' Galbatorix said mildly.

'Well… _yes,_ Sire.'

'Can you read?'

'Yes, Sire.'

'Can you write?'

'Yes, Sire.'

'Can you handle sums? Do you have a good memory? Are you good at talking to people and making yourself available when you're needed?'

'I think so, Sire.'

'Then you have everything you need,' said Galbatorix. 'You're clearly intelligent and unafraid to speak your mind, and those are excellent traits for a governor to have.'

'Thankyou, Sire. But I can't accept this. Governing cities is for… riders and nobles and people like that.'

'But you are a noble now, Lord Edrick. And let me assure you that blood has nothing to do with your abilities or your suitability to do something like this. Having a title and power doesn't make someone better than anyone else, and how we begin life doesn't set the course for the rest of our lives. Lord Vander, the governor of Feinster, was a herbalist before he became a rider. Lady Orwyne owned a vineyard. Lord Roland was a stableboy. Lady Tranah worked in an orchard, and Lady Strein was a maid. Lord Morzan here was the son of a bricklayer and a tailor. And me… do you know who I began as?'

'No, Sire.'

There was a smile in Galbatorix's eyes. 'I was born in Teirm, and I grew up with the name of Arren Cardockson. I was a leatherworker. I worked at my father's stall in the marketplace every day. That's how I got my nickname of Silvertongue – because I was such a persuasive salesman. I could sell anything to anyone. Once I made boots. Now I'm the King of Alagaësia. Actually…' he glanced at his feet. 'If it comes to that, I still make boots. Just my own, though. I refuse to wear those ridiculous slippers the nobility call shoes. There's nothing like a decent pair of proper boots to walk around in – make 'em properly, and they'll last a lifetime.' he broke off, looking slightly embarrassed. 'The point is, Lord Edrick, that what you did yesterday shouldn't get in the way of what you do tomorrow. The nobility in this city is arrogant and corrupt. I would rather die than see someone like Lord Aisling governing this city – but unless I give the position to someone else, that's what will happen. The people here need a governor who understands them. One who is honest and knows how to think for himself, and doesn't try and set himself above the people he governs. Can I rely on you to do that, Lord Edrick?'

Edrick had gone pale, but his expression steadied and he stood a little taller. 'I don't know how well I'll do it, Sire, but if you ask me to, then I'll do my best.'

The hint of a smile showed on Galbatorix's face. 'Then I will announce your appointment immediately, Lord Edrick.'


	9. The Balance of Fear

Chapter Nine

The Balance of Fear

The elevation of Edrick to Lordship and his appointment to the post of city governor caused consternation among the city's elite, just as Galbatorix had expected. He and Morzan presented the new governor to his fellow nobles the day after Edrick accepted it, and then silently watched Aisling and the other lords and ladies try and hide their outraged surprise – with generally dismal results. Edrick had brought his wife and children with him, and was surprisingly calm in the face of a dozen angry nobles. Galbatorix had prepared him for this, and he spoke to them politely and was confident without showing any sign of smugness or arrogance. Galbatorix, watching him, was pleased. He knew he had made the right choice. And the lords and ladies could complain all they liked. The city would be in good hands.

He and Morzan stayed at Dras-Leona for a few days more, to help Edrick settle into his new position, and to await the results of the search of the West End. Unfortunately, though Edrick quickly proved to have an instinct for his role as governor and managed to win the respect of many of the other nobles and the affection of much of the city's population, the search for the Varden cell proved fruitless. They had very prudently gone into hiding, and though many of the West End's occupants were brought to the castle and interrogated by Galbatorix himself, no trace of them was found. Galbatorix was frustrated, but not overly surprised. He hadn't really expected them to wait around long enough to be found. Their leader had probably ordered them to disband until the excitement over Tuomas' death had died down. It was what he would have done. He had sent messages to Urû'baen, Teirm, Gil'ead and many other major cities, instructing the local guard to conduct similar searches. With any luck, they would have more success.

In the meantime, there was only one other positive lead to follow: the elves.

Galbatorix had not visited Ellesméra in over thirty years. Instead he had deputed the task to Morzan, whose normal home at Gil'ead placed him within an hour or so's flight of it. For a very long time it had seemed the elves were not going to return. They had shown Morzan every courtesy, and seemed almost anxious to assure him that they were content to live peacefully and adhere to their promise. At one point Islanzadí had even invited Galbatorix to come to Ellesméra, and had attempted to persuade him that she and her people wanted to resume their former trading with humans. At first Galbatorix had been cautiously open to the idea, but when he had realised that it was merely a ploy to let the elves emerge from Du Weldenvarden he had flatly refused. Islanzadí's response had been a calm one, as if she had more or less expected him to turn her down, and she had continued to keep her distance from the Empire – only occasionally sending gifts and cordial messages to Urû'baen to reassure him that she was, indeed, not an enemy of the human race.

Galbatorix had not been fooled. He had destroyed or given away everything the elvish Queen sent him, and the gifts he sent her in return were deliberately selected to be useless or in some way sarcastic – such as the pair of leather boots he had made himself, knowing that elves refused to wear anything made from animal hide. On another occasion, he had made a fairth – a magical picture captured on a piece of slate – which depicted Queen Saethryn of the dark elves and her great council.

But if Islanzadí had any knowledge of the rebels, then Galbatorix had no choice but to go and speak with her again. There seemed little point in taking anyone else with him except Morzan; the presence of any ordinary humans in Ellesméra would be seen as a threat, if not an act of war. Besides which, they would be unnecessary. He and Morzan could hold their own in a fight, and could make a quick escape if they had to. And there was no way the elves would attack them. Not unless they wanted to be counter-attacked. Even though the Empire didn't have the numbers to completely destroy the elves, it had enough to cause them a great deal of damage. Doubtless Queen Islanzadí had more good sense than that, and neither side wanted war. This would be a diplomatic visit. Nothing more.

Still, as he and Morzan prepared to go, he resolved to keep both eyes open while he was there. Their reception, and Queen Islanzadí's behaviour toward them, could tell him a great deal more than she herself would ever say.

They wasted no time in leaving Dras-Leona, and said goodbye to its new governor a mere week after the search of the West End before they saddled up the dragons and flew away Northward.

Galbatorix enjoyed travelling in company again. He and Morzan stayed at various villages and towns along the way, and once or twice elected to camp in the wilderness, just as they had done long ago. And Galbatorix enjoyed it. Just for a while, just for a few days, the pair of them could forget their responsibilities and enjoy each others' company. That was when Galbatorix saw Morzan regain something of his old rough good cheer, which began to show through beneath his former surly bitterness. And Morzan saw Galbatorix become more youthful as well. He was warmer, more open, less preoccupied and unsmiling. He retained his natural solemnity and authority, but here, on the road, it was as if he was finally able to put aside the burden of kingship and be himself, just for a while.

When the journey ended, it felt far too soon. They reached Gil'ead and stayed there overnight – taking the opportunity to check on the wellbeing of the city and issue a few commands to the temporary governor with regards to his efforts in tracking down the Varden cell – and then finally struck out into Du Weldenvarden.

Ellesméra came into sight shortly before noon, and Shruikan and Idün flew over the border without troubling to hide themselves. They were spotted almost instantly, as they had expected – there were elvish sentries posted in the trees, and as Shruikan circled lower Galbatorix could hear their shouts.

Shruikan took a few moments to choose a clear spot to land, and touched down not far from the massive old tree known as the Menoa Tree. There, the elves held their celebrations. There, he had been bound up in the magic of the riders and presented with White Violence. And there, long ago, at the height of his power, he had held Islanzadí at sword-point and extracted her promise.

The elvish Queen was ready for him. As he jumped down from Shruikan's back, hand on his sword-hilt, he saw her coming toward him, flanked by two other elves. And, beside her, was someone else – someone he blinked in surprise to see.

Idün landed beside Shruikan, and as Morzan dismounted Galbatorix and Islanzadí met beneath the boughs of the Menoa tree.

Galbatorix had put on the crown, along with one of his finest robes – its black fabric decorated with gold and silver embroidery. He bowed his head slightly toward Islanzadí. 'Queen Islanzadí.'

Islanzadí, a tall woman with very dark brown hair and bright green eyes, returned the gesture. 'King Galbatorix Taranisäii-Traeganni. Welcome to Ellesméra.'

Morzan came to stand beside Galbatorix. He watched Islanzadí closely, but said nothing.

'Welcome, Lord Morzan Drasborn,' said Islanzadí. 'Please,' she added, addressing both of them, 'Come with me to my audience chamber. Your dragons shall be safe here, and my people shall bring them water to drink.'

Galbatorix inclined his head. 'I would be honoured, my Lady.' To Shruikan, he said; _'Be careful, Shruikan. Stay close to Idün. Don't eat or drink anything, and don't let them get too close to you.'_

'_Protect yourself, Galbatorix,'_ Shruikan warned. _'The elf will kill you if she can. I can smell it on her.'_

Galbatorix reassured him by sharing a feeling of confidence and affection, and followed Islanzadí into her audience chamber. It was not an enclosed space but a simple frame of vines persuaded to grow into a living canopy by elvish magic. Its shape was no longer perfectly arched; some time, long ago, an oak tree had taken root beneath it and had by now grown almost as massive as the Menoa tree. Its branches made a second roof above the canopy, and Galbatorix paused to touch the bark as he passed its great trunk.

There were a row of stone chairs standing at the end of the audience chamber, surrounded by delicate flowers.

Islanzadí sat down on the central and finest of these chairs – a throne carved with elvish runes and symbols of nobility. Her two attendants sat on one side of her, and the third person with her sat on the other. The Queen of the elves regarded them calmly, her air regal and chilly.

Galbatorix and Morzan glanced at each other. There were no chairs for them to sit on.

Galbatorix sighed. So this was how it was going to be. He held his right hand out toward one of the stone seats left unoccupied. '_Reisa_.'

The chair lifted itself off the ground with a grating noise, and he pulled it toward him with magic, set it down opposite Islanzadí's throne and sat on it. Morzan did not take a chair for himself, but chose to stand by his master's right hand, just as before. The elves tensed when he drew Zar'roc, but he only rested the sword on the ground in front of him, and watched them silently.

Galbatorix rested one boot on the other, and steepled his hands, his air relaxed. But in spite of this his eyes were cold and wary, and their stare toward Islanzadí was penetrating. 'So, Queen Islanzadí,' he said, once the silence had drawn out for a few moments. 'It is good to see you again. We have not met in a very long time. Too long to be away from your noble company.'

'King Galbatorix. As always, your presence is an honour,' said Islanzadí. 'The elvish race greet you as an ally and a friend. If there is anything we may do to help you, speak and it shall be so.'

Galbatorix nodded slightly. 'How fare your people, Queen Islanzadí? I had hoped that they would have recovered after the war. Your city looks as beautiful as it did the last time I saw it, when I was a boy.'

'We are well, Sire,' said Islanzadí. 'As are your own people. As always, humans prove their strength and their resilience. You flourish even in the darkest of times.'

That was a veiled insult, Galbatorix saw. 'My race has always been a powerful one, in its own way,' he said. 'As we have demonstrated again and again. Our cities are flourishing. My friends and I have carried on the legacy of our order and given our people peace and wealth. Humans govern humans. As it was meant to be.' He spoke firmly, and stared directly at Islanzadí as he said this.

The Queen of the elves laughed softly. 'Human?'

Galbatorix did not waver. 'Elves may govern elves, but humans must always be led by their own.'

Islanzadí reached a delicate hand toward him, and he did not resist as she caressed his cheek with her fingertips. Her skin was warm and soft against his own, perfumed by flowers and pine needles. 'As it has always been, the great deceiver's first and greatest victim is himself,' she said. She stroked his hair, letting the curls slide between her fingers, and lifted it away to expose his ears – the tips of each marred by old, ragged scars. 'No, Sire,' she breathed. 'You are no more human than I am. Deny it until the day you die, but you are an elf. Nothing will ever change that, _hálfr-dreyri_.'

Galbatorix pulled away from her with a sudden movement. '_Dwi mohonoch, 'n ddeheuol hun_,' he spat. He raised one hand and made a graceful, curving motion in the air with it. '_Dwi dywyllwch, a 'r leuad bod 'm arwain_.'

The two elvish attendants jerked in their seats, their calm, smooth faces twisting with sudden anger.

All of Islanzadí's composure vanished. 'Do not speak that language here,' she snarled, eyes ablaze. 'Allies of yours we may be, but you may never sully the air of our forest with such words again.'

Galbatorix leaned forward in his seat. 'I insult only those who insult me, Queen Islanzadí. If you call me by that name again, let me assure you I shall do more than speak my father's language in your hearing.'

There was tense silence for several seconds. Islanzadí's two attendants glanced quickly at her, looking for a signal, and Morzan tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.

Islanzadí waved a hand at her attendants. 'Enough,' she said sharply. 'This will get us nowhere. I apologise if I offended you, Sire. It was not my intention.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Your apology is accepted, Queen Islanzadí. Tell me…' he looked at the person sitting on Islanzadí's other side. 'Why does the Queen of the elves have a human for an attendant?'

The person was a small boy who looked about twelve. He wore elvish clothes, and his skin was a rich shade of brown – like Vander's desert skin, but much darker. He was watching Galbatorix curiously, but with some fear as well.

Islanzadí took hold of the boy's small hand. 'This is Ajihad,' she said. 'He is an orphan. His people came from far to the East, beyond the Hadarac. We have… adopted him. Ajihad, say hello to the King of Alagaësia.'

The boy looked at Galbatorix. His gaze was astonishingly steady. 'Greetings, Sire,' he said. His voice was strong and richly accented.

'Hello, Ajihad of the East,' said Galbatorix. 'I am pleased to meet you. You remind me of my friend, Vander of the Hadarac desert.'

'Lord Vander is of the plains tribes,' Ajihad said solemnly. 'My people and his were friends once.'

A smile showed in Galbatorix's eyes. 'Here,' he said. 'Have this. As a gift from me.' He took a ring from his finger, and held it out toward him.

Ajihad hesitated, glancing at Islanzadí. She nodded, and the boy accepted the ring and clutched it tightly in one hand.

'That ring once belonged to a great ruler,' said Galbatorix. 'I have worn it for many years. Look after it. It's older than I am.'

'Thankyou, Sire,' the boy said softly.

'Now…' Galbatorix turned his gaze on Islanzadí again. 'I did not come here merely to exchange pleasantries, Queen Islanzadí. I bring tidings from my realm.'

Not a muscle moved in Islanzadí's face. 'I am listening, Sire.'

'Two weeks ago, in the city of Dras-Leona, Lord Tuomas, the city governor, was murdered in the Cathedral.'

'I am grieved to hear it, Sire,' said Queen Islanzadí.

'The murderers have not yet been caught,' said Galbatorix. 'But we have reason to believe that it was the work of a group of rebels that calls itself the Varden. Have you, by any chance, heard of them?'

Islanzadí's face remained impassive. 'I have not, Sire.'

'The Varden is well-organised,' Galbatorix went on. 'They have cells embedded in several major cities. We believe they were also behind the deaths of the Ladies Orwyne and Ana, and the assassinations of several important nobles and officials in the Empire. No doubt they are planning many more of these murders.'

'I trust that you will be able to stop them quickly, Sire,' said Islanzadí. She had barely moved in her seat, and her voice was perfectly calm and level.

Galbatorix switched to the ancient language. 'We have uncovered an important clue from Lord Tuomas' death. I recovered a memory from the mind of his dragon before she died. She caught a glimpse of Lord Tuomas' murderers, and, through her, so did I. There were at least four of them. And one of them appeared to have pointed ears. Elvish ears.'

That was when he saw it. Islanzadí's expression flickered. Just a little. Just for a moment. But he caught it. 'I do not see how that can be possible, Sire,' the elvish Queen said in a low voice. 'None of my people have left Du Weldenvarden's borders since the ending of the war.'

Galbatorix leaned forward intently. She had used the common tongue. 'Can you be certain of this, Queen Islanzadí? No doubt some of your people are unruly. I would not lay blame on you if one of them decided to disobey you and leave Du Weldenvarden. But if that is what has happened, then you and I both know that the culprit must be caught. Rebels and traitors cannot go unpunished.'

'No,' Islanzadí almost whispered. 'They cannot, Sire.'

For a moment the two of them were still, challenging each other with a stare. Finally, Galbatorix straightened up. 'You had a daughter once, did you not?' he said, reverting to the common speech. 'She had your eyes.'

Islanzadí's face was pale. 'She is dead,' she said, using the ancient language.

Galbatorix's eyes were as cold as death. 'I am sorry to hear that, Queen Islanzadí. Loss is not an easy thing to bear. Great love brings great pain to us, very often.'

Islanzadí gripped Ajihad's little hand in hers. 'I miss my daughter very much.'

Galbatorix sat back in his seat. 'I had a daughter once. Did you know that, my Lady?'

'I did not, Sire,' said Islanzadí.

Galbatorix looked her in the eye. 'I never saw her. Never. Do you know what happened to her, Queen Islanzadí? I do. She was born in Ilirea, while I was in hiding in the North. I spoke to her mother again, years later, and she told me how our daughter was born one night, when the moon was up. She said she looked like me. My eyes, and my hair. Sometimes I still wonder what she could have grown to be, if she had not been born as and where she was. But she was born in Ilirea, into Vrael's power. He took her away from the room where she had been born, while her mother was sleeping, and killed her. He did it with his own hands. He told me so, to my face, the last time we met. My blood was a curse to her, and it destroyed her. She never even had a name.'

Silence. Deep, dark, icy silence.

'I am sorry,' said Islanzadí. 'For Vrael's weakness. He shamed us all.'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'He did only as he was taught to do. As all the old riders did. He did what he did out of fear and hatred. An old hatred. Many people say that I destroyed the riders, but I did not. They were already destroying themselves. And now the Varden seeks to finish what Vrael began. Do you wish to see the last of the riders die, Islanzadí? Would that be a beautiful thing in your eyes?'

'It would be a tragedy more deep and terrible than anything that has ever befallen us since the beginning of the world,' said Islanzadí, in the ancient language. 'And I would do everything in my power to punish those responsible. Even unto death itself.'

'Then look to your people, Islanzadí. Watch them closely. Do not let your promise be broken again.'

'The promise I made to you has not been broken,' said Islanzadí, now using the common tongue once more. 'The elves have no part in this, Sire. We only wish to live in peace and forget the past.'

'Do not lie to me, Queen Islanzadí,' Galbatorix said in his coldest voice. 'You are not passive. Your race never is. You despise me more deeply than any man or elf can begin to comprehend. I know this well. I know this very well.'

'I am not a fool, King Galbatorix,' said Islanzadí. 'I do not seek open war with you or your race. These rebels are human, and we have no part in their doings. If you cannot control your own subjects, then it is no fault of mine.'

Galbatorix remained utterly still and calm. 'Do not think you can dupe me into believing you have forgotten the past,' he said, his voice steady. 'I have not forgotten, and neither have you. And I promise you, with the gods themselves as my witnesses, that if you break your promise – if you choose to side with my enemies, if you shelter them, or give them weapons, or incite them to commit treason against me, then you will suffer the fate that comes to all my enemies. I will not spare you, and I will not forgive you. I will burn this forest to the ground. Do not think that time has weakened my sword. It would gladly taste elvish blood again. If it had to.'

Islanzadí stood up sharply. Galbatorix stood too, and the elvish Queen faced him, pale and trembling. 'You would not dare!'

Galbatorix laughed his dry, cold laugh. 'You know what I dare to do, Queen Islanzadí. Do not tempt me.'

Islanzadí paused at that. 'It does not need to be this way, Sire,' she said carefully. 'I did not threaten you. There is no need to say such things.'

'Queen Islanzadí, three of my friends are dead. No ordinary human could kill a rider. Lord Tuomas was killed by an elf, and no doubt Ana and Orwyne were as well. If you did not help the Varden do it, then someone among your people did. The elves have done more than threaten me. They have betrayed me. I gave you an ultimatum on this spot once before, and now I will do it again. Either you choose to give up the murderers to me and let them suffer the punishment due to them, or Ellesméra will be destroyed.'

Islanzadí stood still. 'I cannot accept that, Sire.'

'You have no choice.'

'I do, Sire,' said Islanzadí.

And then, pain hit him – sharp, stabbing and sudden. Galbatorix cried out and grabbed at his shoulder, but there was nothing there. His eyes widened. 'Shruikan!'

Without another word or a moment's thought, he turned and sprinted away out of the audience chamber. The last thing he saw before he turned, his shoulder throbbing and hot with phantom blood, was Islanzadí's dark, hate-filled eyes staring at him.

The run to the Menoa Tree seemed to take forever. And even as he ran, he could feel himself weakening. A strange lassitude was coming over him – a drowsiness. He ran on, stumbling a little, Morzan crashing after him, and finally reached the shelter of the great tree.

Shruikan was there, with Idün. Both dragons were crouched by the base of the tree's trunk, snarling. There was an arrow sticking in Shruikan's shoulder, and one in Idün's neck. Galbatorix ran to his partner's side. _'Shruikan! Shruikan!'_

Shruikan's mental voice was weak, and his head moved slowly and clumsily as he brought it around toward him. _'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't… the arrow… it's… I… Galbatorix help me, please, help me…'_

Galbatorix drew White Violence. Beside him, Morzan pointed Zar'roc at the group of elves that were emerging from the forest all about to surround the four of them. Every one of them had a bow, with an arrow notched and ready to be loosed straight at them.

Galbatorix tried to block Shruikan out of his mind, but he couldn't make himself abandon the dragon. His heart would not allow him to. But Shruikan's drowsiness moved between their mental link, making his vision go grey around the edges. He raised White Violence. 'Stay back!' he roared.

The elves had halted. They stayed at a safe distance, all still aiming their bows, and Islanzadí came forward, still leading Ajihad by the hand.

Galbatorix turned on her. 'Queen Islanzadí, this is an act of war.'

There was a strange, controlled passion in Islanzadí's face. 'Your threats were an act of war, Sire, and so was the ultimatum you gave me. I will not allow you to speak to me as you did, when you are a guest in my realm. I am a Queen. And I will not be treated like your vassal.'

One of the elves behind her loosed his arrow. It hit Shruikan in the leg, and Galbatorix cried out again as fresh pain struck him. Shruikan roared and started violently toward Islanzadí, but his legs slid out from beneath him and he slumped down, whining and trying to get up.

'The poison on these arrows is quite potent, Sire,' Islanzadí told him. 'A few more could kill him.'

Galbatorix's face twisted with fury. He raised White Violence and stepped toward her. 'If you even _think_ of hurting him again-,'

Islanzadí moved quickly away from him, pulling Ajihad in front of her. Galbatorix stopped, teeth bared. She was using the boy as a shield.

Morzan came to his side. 'Stop it, gods damn you! Stop doing it! This – _argh!'_ he screamed and staggered backward, dropping his sword. He convulsed several more times, as half a dozen arrows hissed past him, peppering Idün's hide. The red dragon howled and reached out toward him with her foreclaws, unable to get to her feet. Morzan managed to get to her, and began to pull the arrows out of her, letting out little gasps and cries of pain as he did so, but desperate to remove them before the poison could have its full effect.

Islanzadí faced Galbatorix, advancing on him, and he backed away from her. Shruikan's pain and terror were flooding into him, confusing him, and even as he tried to get his footing he cried out again as Shruikan was struck by more arrows.

'Shall I kill him, Sire?' Islanzadí asked. 'They say that losing your bonded partner is an agony no living being could ever imagine. Your survived it once. Could you survive it again?'

More arrows shot past him, impaling Shruikan's neck and chest. The dragon's mental scream echoed through Galbatorix's head. _'NO! Galbatorix! NO! HELP ME!'_

The cry burst out of Galbatorix, loud and desperate. 'No! Please gods no! Don't!'

A bright, cold smile broke onto Islanzadí's face. 'He who fears nothing fears this,' she said. 'You fear it, don't you, Sire? It is the only fear you have left.'

Galbatorix had gone pale, his face beaded with sweat, his terror real. 'No,' he whispered, as White Violence fell from his weakened hand. 'Please gods, no. Shruikan…'

Islanzadí kept up her advance. She came on until she had him cornered, and he collapsed backward against Shruikan's heaving, bleeding chest.

'And here is my ultimatum, Sire,' the Queen said, standing over him, her eyes fixed on his desperate face. 'Du Weldenvarden is mine. And if you ever come here again, I will see it as an act of war, and I will not spare you. I will take your dragon from you forever. And that is my promise to you.'

Galbatorix nodded quickly and jerkily. 'I will… leave you in peace.'

Islanzadí grasped his hand and lifted him to his feet. 'That is all I wish for, Sire. In return, I shall keep my people within their homes and we will not trouble you more.' She stood still as several other elves came forward. Galbatorix started, but they only went to Shruikan and pulled out the arrows, healing the wounds with magic while more did the same to Idün. One of them brought White Violence to him. 'Your sword, Sire.'

Galbatorix took it, and managed to put it back into its sheath. Another elf offered him a glass bottle. 'Antidote. For the poison. Your dragon must drink it.' The words were spoken in the ancient language.

Galbatorix uncorked the bottle, and poured its contents between Shruikan's jaws. The dragon swallowed it, and sighed deeply. Sure enough, a few moments later, the weakness began to recede.

Galbatorix's terror went with it. He watched anxiously as Morzan administered the antidote to Idün, but the red dragon was soon able to stand upright again.

Almost instantly, Morzan came to Galbatorix, holding Zar'roc. He pointed it at Islanzadí. 'You miserable lying bitch!' he roared. 'You're gonna pay for this, I swear to gods.'

Galbatorix put a hand on his arm. 'Calm down, Morzan.'

Morzan was not the only one with violence on his mind. Shruikan shook his head, dispelling the last of his drowsiness, and then he rushed straight at Islanzadí, teeth bared. Galbatorix placed himself in the way. _'No, Shruikan! Stop!'_

Shruikan pulled up short, snarling. _'Get out of the way! I'll kill her!'_

Galbatorix touched his neck. 'No, Shruikan,' he said aloud. 'Don't. Calm down. There's nothing to be gained from it.' _'We will have our revenge later,'_ he added silently.

For a few tense seconds, Shruikan did not move. But then he relaxed and sullenly withdrew.

Galbatorix faced Islanzadí. 'You have made your point, my Lady,' he said stiffly. 'I will not forget this.'

'My actions were extreme,' said Islanzadí. 'But I deemed them necessary. We fear you, Sire. As all Alagaësians do. But we are not weak, and nor are we unable to defend ourselves. You know that now, Sire. And see you do not forget it.'

Galbatorix was silent. He could see the look in her eyes, and the looks in the eyes of the elves standing behind her. 'I should have destroyed you back then,' he said softly. 'I should have finished it.'

'You could have,' said Islanzadí. 'But you did not have the strength.'

'No,' said Galbatorix. 'I had the strength. I did not have the heart. I did not want to become you. My compassion for you was the greatest mistake I ever made.'

'Go back to your Empire, _hálfr-dreyri_,' said Islanzadí. 'And do not return.'

Galbatorix stood still for a time, unreadable. He could see the barely-concealed triumph in her face, see the hatred and the contempt of the elves. 'Morzan,' he said quietly. 'Go.'

'Sire-,'

'Go. That's an order.'

Morzan didn't hesitate any longer. He went to Idün and climbed into her saddle. The elves moved aside to let the red dragon past, and once she was in the open she took off and was gone.

'Follow him, Sire,' said Islanzadí. 'Your people need you.'

Galbatorix watched her. He seemed to be thinking. Then he punched her in the face. Islanzadí cried out and fell over backward, and the other elves charged. But Shruikan rushed forward, bellowing, and they retreated. Galbatorix grabbed hold of the black dragon's shoulder, and vaulted into the saddle. He held on tightly as Shruikan made a stumbling rush out of the shade of the Menoa Tree, his wings already unfurling. A dozen elves notched fresh arrows onto their bows, but before they could loose them Islanzadí held up a hand. 'Stop. Let them go.'

As Shruikan rose up from the trees, wings beating powerfully, Galbatorix could feel the wind pulling at him, trying to drag him out of the saddle and hurl him back down to the ground. He did not even try to strap himself in. He clung to Shruikan's neck, his heart pounding, every sense reaching out to touch the black dragon and drink in his essence, reminding him that he was still alive. _'Shruikan… oh gods, Shruikan, oh gods…'_

Shruikan roared. A plume of black fire blasted out from between his jaws and burst upon the treetops below, setting them ablaze, and he flew away from Du Weldenvarden as fast as he could go, not saying a word.

Only later, when he calmed down, did Galbatorix begin to feel the humiliation burning at him. _'They're dead,'_ he snarled. _'They'll die for this. I swear to gods.'_

Far below him, Islanzadí still stood by the trunk of the Menoa Tree, with her people around her. She held onto Ajihad's shoulders. 'Be calm, little prince,' she told him. 'All is well. You are safe.'

Ajihad's face was steady. 'I am not afraid, my Lady.'

Islanzadí smiled. 'No. You are brave beyond your years, Ajihad. I am proud of you. Do not forget what happened here this day. Many men fear riders so much they would not dream of challenging them, but today you have seen that they are not invincible. I reduced the Great Betrayer himself to terror and helplessness with nothing but a few arrows and a sleeping draught. A rider's vulnerability is his dragon. Never forget it, Ajihad.'

Ajihad looked upward, watching Shruikan's receding shape on the horizon. 'Why did you not kill him, my Lady?'

'The time is not yet right. The betrayer is more difficult to kill than he seems. His death must be at the hands of one greater than I. He would not dare to kill me, and, for now, neither do I.'

A shadow stepped out from behind the trunk of the tree. 'Queen Islanzadí, what have you done?'

Islanzadí turned. 'I did what I had to,' she said calmly. 'He had grown too suspicious. If I had not done something, it would have brought him down on us again.'

'And this won't?'

Not many people could have spoken to her like that, but Islanzadí did not react. 'The peace is broken in any case. Better we remind him that we are not yet finished. He will not forget this humiliation, and nor will he forget that we had his life in our hands. It will make him fear us.'

'He does not fear you, Islanzadí. His hatred and his madness are too deep for that.'

'Even so,' said Islanzadí. 'You must go now. We cannot shelter you any more. Your actions have brought this upon us, and though we do not blame you we cannot risk your discovery here. We are leaving Ellesméra now, and will go into hiding until calm has returned. As for you… you must leave Du Weldenvarden.'

The other person bowed his head. 'I will go, Queen Islanzadí.'

'And go with my blessings,' said Islanzadí. She reached out to touch his shoulders, her eyes warm. 'You are a great man. You have proven the worth of your race to us all again and again. Because of you, humans may one day be redeemed.'

The man shook his head. 'I cannot redeem the human race for a crime as deep as theirs has been. But I will not rest until every last one of the traitors is dead. Better the riders cease to exist than continue to be the King's thralls.'

Islanzadí nodded. 'And you will do so. I have faith in you, Brom.'


	10. Parting

Chapter Ten

Parting

Morzan was first to reach Gil'ead. Idün touched down on the dragon roost, and he got off her back and embraced her. Both of them were trembling.

'_Godsdamn it, godsdamn it, godsdamn it,'_ Morzan kept muttering. His mind was radiating anger. _'Gods, Idün, I'm so sorry, I thought I'd…'_

'_We failed,'_ Idün whispered. _'We failed them. Morzan, I thought… I thought they were going to kill me. I thought…'_

Morzan held onto her. _'It's all right, Idün. It's all right. I'm here. I've got you.'_

Idün nuzzled his back, her huge snout bruising him. _'Stay with me for a while, Morzan. I need it.'_

'_I will. For as long as you need me.'_

Idün sighed and raised her head. _'Shruikan is coming.'_

She and Morzan stood side-by-side and watched the black dragon approach. He landed heavily, his claws digging huge grooves in the stone. His teeth were bared and his tail lashed violently, the spikes striking chips off the outer wall of the roost as a continual, vibrating growl rumbled in his chest.

Galbatorix slid off his back, his boots thudding on the stone as he landed. He was breathing heavily, and there was a strange look in his eyes that Morzan recognised from long ago – a fixed, slightly glazed look. It was not the look of a man, but of a savage creature ready to attack, and it matched Shruikan's own expression perfectly. Morzan kept a careful distance from him and watched him stand still by Shruikan's foreleg, fists clenched, baring his teeth like a wolf. He looked as if he were going to have some sort of violent outburst.

When the trapdoor leading to the castle opened, he turned around in the blink of an eye, shoulders hunching, one hand reaching for his sword. But it was only Lord Theremin, the temporary governor.

'Sire,' he said, bowing low. 'And my Lord Morzan. I am pleased to see you back.'

Galbatorix stared blankly at him for a few moments, and then blinked and let go of White Violence's hilt. 'Lord Theremin,' he said.

'Welcome back to Gil'ead, Sire. The evening meal is being prepared for you as we speak. Also, an urgent message has arrived from Urû'baen.'

The awareness came back into Galbatorix's face, as if he had just woken up. 'What message is this?'

'It arrived an hour or so after you left, Sire. I have it here.' Lord Theremin held out a scroll of paper.

Galbatorix took it and turned to Morzan. 'Shall we go below and have something to eat?'

Morzan hesitated, and then shook his head. 'Sire… if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to stay with Idün for a while.'

'I understand. Lord Theremin… have the servants bring our food up here, if you please.'

'At once, Sire.' Theremin left.

Once he had gone, Galbatorix slumped down on the low wall that edged the roost, his head in his hands, and stared expressionlessly at the stonework. Morzan watched him for a few moments, and then resumed checking Idün for any unhealed wounds. 'Those sons of bitches,' he muttered at last, trying not to let his true shock show. 'We were on a mission of peace!'

'I've had diplomatic visits that went better,' Galbatorix mumbled.

'Are you all right, sir?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix looked up. 'Well enough, Morzan. And you?'

'I was scared out of my mind,' Morzan said honestly. 'I really thought they were gonna kill us.'

'No. That wasn't their intention. I don't think that was even real poison on those arrows. Islanzadí wanted to humiliate us. She wanted to…' his expression twisted. 'She wanted to see me beg.'

'She's a fool,' said Morzan. 'What does she think's gonna happen now? Does she reckon we're just going to forget about it?'

'I think she's intelligent enough to guess what our response will probably be,' said Galbatorix. 'But she may be counting on her ability to read me. I think she could well believe that I won't have the courage to declare war on her.'

Morzan shook his head. 'She couldn't possibly. Not after what she did.'

'I'm not so sure,' said Galbatorix. 'When it comes to the elves, the most important thing to remember about them is their arrogance. It dictates everything they do, and so does their cowardice. They didn't do a damn thing to help Vrael until it was completely obvious that we had a real chance of winning, and then when we beat them they went to hide in their little forest and didn't think we'd even consider coming after them. They haven't changed. That's what Arthryn taught me.'

'Arthryn, sir?'

'My grandmother. She told me that the southern elves hate humans because they consider us to be weak and corruptible, and because we're mortal. But the dark elves envied us because we have the ability to change. Elves don't change. They can't. It's completely alien to them. And that means that they expect everyone else to be the same. The idea that time could change us won't even enter their heads.'

'Yeah… you're right, sir. Just as always. We wanted to move on, din't we? But they couldn't understand that.'

'Well, how could they forget? I never forgot what happened to my own people, and I never will. No… elves never put aside old grudges, and they never change their ways. They proved that today. They had the arrogance to do what they did to us and think it would be enough to frighten us away. Well I'll show them that Galbatorix Taranisäii knows how to learn from his mistakes.'

The trapdoor opened, and the two riders watched incuriously as a group of servants emerged onto the dragon roost, carefully balancing several trays of food. Others brought a pair of chairs and a small, low table that only just fitted through the opening. They set up the chairs and table and laid out the food and a flagon of wine in an astonishingly short time, and retreated.

Galbatorix took a seat, and poured some wine for the pair of them. Morzan took his and drank deeply. 'I'm sorry, sir. For what happened. I should have done something, but I just panicked…'

'So did I, Morzan. And I am not going to forget it. Attacking Idün and Shruikan like that, and watching us suffer… it was the ultimate cowardice and cruelty. And Islanzadí knows that. She knows our dragons make us vulnerable, and she attacked us where it would hurt most. She _taunted_ me. She had the gall to…' he broke off and shook his head, containing his fury.

'So what are we going to do, sir?' said Morzan. 'Are we going to attack them?'

'I don't know, Morzan. I'm not sure yet.'

'We should,' said Morzan. 'I'm telling you, sir; as long as they exist they'll keep on making trouble for us. They won't just settle down and negotiate. They've been helping those damned rebels. No doubt about that. I mean… Islanzadí attacked us after you pretty much accused her of it. She must've realised the game was up.'

'Oh yes. There's no doubt about that. I suspected it immediately from the way she reacted to my news about Tuomas' death. She confirmed it by what she did after I accused her.'

'Unless she just thought you wouldn't believe her,' said Morzan. 'It's fair to assume that, I reckon.'

'I think she would have tried harder to convince me she was innocent, if that was the case. No… my questions were hitting too close to home. She lost her nerve. As for what we're going to do… well, we can't do nothing. That would be disastrous. But declaring war would be a big step, and a far riskier one than I'd like. The elves will be expecting it, and even if we did rally the urgals again, there would be no guarantee of victory. We can't afford to be hasty.'

Morzan looked thoughtful. 'What about Islanzadí? I mean… if something were to happen to her, it would put paid to the elves for quite a while, I reckon. They haven't had to choose a new ruler in more than a century. And whoever they chose might not want to help the rebels any more.'

'Hmm. That's a good idea. You could well be right. But whatever we decide will have extremely important consequences, so we must think it over very thoroughly. I will contact Vander, and the three of us will meet here to discuss what strategy to take. Vander is a very good tactician, and he could have some valuable advice.'

'Good idea, sir.' Morzan helped himself to some cheese. 'Oh yeah… what's that message from Urû'baen?'

'Oh! I almost forgot about it…' Galbatorix took the scroll from his pocket and unfurled it. 'It says… this is a bit odd. It says they need me back in Urû'baen as soon as possible, because a delegation from Surda is due to arrive there by the end of the week.'

'Surdans?' said Morzan. 'What could they want?'

'I don't know. Probably just a courtesy visit. Damn! I'm sorry, Morzan – looks like I'm going to have to rush off again. Busy, busy, busy…'

'It's all right, sir. I'll come with you.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'I'm sorry, Morzan, but no. I need you to stay here. Someone has to keep an eye on Du Weldenvarden.'

Morzan mumbled something and swallowed half a cup of wine in one mouthful. 'It ain't fair.'

'Life isn't fair, Morzan. Especially when you're trying to run an Empire. But don't worry, we'll see each other again soon enough. The instant Vander gets to Urû'baen, I'll be back. All right?'

'Right, sir,' said Morzan. He scowled. 'What in the world could those Surdans want that's so damned important?'

Galbatorix did not want to go back to Urû'baen. It wasn't just the thought of being forced to exchange tedious pleasantries with another group of diplomats, or the fact that he would have to abandon Morzan yet again, when they had only just begun to repair their friendship. Somehow, he could not help but feel as if returning to Urû'baen would mean losing his freedom. Adventuring with Morzan –he couldn't help but think of it that way – had been a return to an old life he had long since left behind, and until now he had never fully realised just how much he had missed it.

He said as much to Shruikan, as the pair of them flew away from Gil'ead and Morzan, his small figure slowly diminishing as the distance grew between them, watching them from the top of the dragon roost.

'_I wasn't cut out for this kind of life, Shruikan. I feel so bored and listless indoors. Do you know, I think I actually need some danger in my life.'_

'_You're an idiot,'_ said Shruikan.

'_Probably, but don't you think it makes sense? I only ever really feel alive when I'm at risk of… well, not being alive.'_

'_Well, thank the sea and the sky there are rebels out there trying to kill you,'_ Shruikan said sourly. _'You should be grateful to them instead of trying to catch them.'_

'_Very amusing. But I'll tell you this, Shruikan, and I mean it – if it came to a choice between hunting rebels through the countryside and sitting in Urû'baen with a lot of diplomats, I know what I'd pick every time.'_

'_And what if it was a choice between that and being hit over the head and thrown in the canal again?'_

'_Well… all right, in that case I'd go with the diplomats. But I'd have a good long think about it first.'_

When Galbatorix arrived back at Urû'baen, he found the city still running smoothly. The people in the streets below watched Shruikan fly overhead, and he heard some of them shout – though whether they were sounds of excitement, fear or hostility he couldn't tell. Once Shruikan had landed and Galbatorix had removed his saddle and the small bag of clothes he'd taken with him, it was time to go into the castle and meet up with Lord Walden. The old man greeted him politely, saying; 'It's excellent to see you back, Sire. We were a little worried about you – there were rumours that something had befallen you in Dras-Leona.'

'Thankyou, Lord Walden. Do you have anything important to tell me?'

'Little enough, Sire. We have conducted an extensive search of the city for any signs of Varden spies, and have made a number of arrests. There are five suspected Varden members in the dungeon for you to deal with when you see fit, Sire.'

'Excellent. And the Surdans?'

'They are within a day of here, Sire. We expect them to arrive by noon tomorrow.'

'Is there any word on why they have chosen to come?'

Lord Walden looked a little embarrassed. 'Unfortunately… I cannot give you a clear answer to that question as I would like to, Sire. There appears to be some confusion over the matter – I have made enquiries, but…'

'Never mind. No doubt they'll tell us when they get here. I'm assuming you've prepared a reception for them?'

'Yes, Sire. The finest bedrooms are being made ready, and the kitchens have been instructed to prepare a feast to welcome them.'

'Good. I will go to my chamber now and rest for a while. Later, I will visit the prisoners.'

'Yes, Sire.'

Galbatorix returned to his bedchamber, carrying his luggage in one hand in spite of the servants trying to relieve him of it. He climbed up the stairs and opened the door with magic, and was oddly relieved to see the room hadn't changed. Everything was just as he'd left it. He locked the door behind him and dumped his bag on the floor, then took White Violence from its sheath and reluctantly put it back into its holder over the desk. He stuffed the sheath back into the cupboard, took off his robe and boots, and slumped gratefully into his hammock.

He dozed for an hour or so, and woke up feeling refreshed. But his mood quickly darkened when he remembered the people in the dungeon. It was time to go and have a look at them and find out if they were actually worth anything. He put on a fresh pair of trousers and selected another robe – a plain woollen one this time, and a new pair of boots. The old pair were cracked and grubby thanks to his adventure in the canal, and he made a mental note to replace them as he gave his hair a quick comb, tucked a dagger into his robe and left the room.

The dungeons were built underground, and like the catacombs had once been part of Ilirea. Galbatorix rarely entered them except to visit prisoners he considered important enough to warrant his personal attention. He would interrogate these himself. Not something he enjoyed, but he knew he had a gift for it. It was one of his less pleasant abilities.

The guards posted down there were quick to let him in, and he strolled along the row of cells, following the one deputed to show him the suspected rebels. The dungeons were well-lit and clean, and the cells themselves sparse but not horrendously uncomfortable. Each prisoner was supplied with blankets and plenty of food, and the more privileged ones could request things like quills and paper, or books. Prisoners rarely stayed there for long, and the dungeons were reserved only for the more important ones. Petty thieves and other common criminals went to the much larger prison out in the city. The dungeons were occupied by political prisoners – those guilty of crimes like sedition, insurrection, treason or terrorism. They would stay locked up until they had been interrogated and publicly trialled – something Galbatorix insisted on presiding over himself – before being executed or released. If these new prisoners proved to be members of the Varden, they would die for it. But not until they had told Galbatorix everything they knew. Whether they wanted to or not.

The guard unlocked the first of the cells. 'This one shouldn't be too much of a problem, Sire.'

Galbatorix conjured up a magical light, and entered. The cell's occupant was a woman. More a girl, really – no more than seventeen years old. She was huddled in the corner, and looked up in mute terror as he entered.

Galbatorix pointed at her. 'Get up,' he commanded.

The girl obeyed. She was pale and trembling.

'Sit,' said Galbatorix, indicating the bench attached to the wall.

She did so, choosing to sit at the end as far away from him as possible. He moved to stand in front of her, out of arm's reach, and silently looked her up and down. The girl was skinny and pale, though whether this was a result of prison rations or not he couldn't tell. She had brown hair and hazel eyes, and was simply clad. No-one in particular. Probably middle-class – the daughter of a tradesman or a craftsman.

'Your name,' said Galbatorix.

'Katran, Sire,' the girl almost whispered.

'Where are you from, Katran?' Galbatorix kept his voice toneless, delivering each question as a flat command.

'The North Quarter, Sire,' said the girl.

That was where most of the city's craftspeople lived. 'I see. Why were you arrested, Katran?'

'I was-,' Katran gulped and shuddered, obviously on the verge of tears. 'The city guard came to search my father's workshop, Sire. I tried to… I told them to leave, and one of them hit me, Sire. I was stupid, I panicked, I tried to hit them back, and they arrested me. Please, Sire, I don't… I never… I…' she started to sob softly.

Galbatorix sighed. 'Calm down, Katran,' he said softly. 'I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Just tell me what I want to know, and you'll be set free.'

Katran controlled herself, just barely. 'Y-yes, S-sire, I'll d… do what ever you want, Sire.'

'Good. Now tell me; why did you ask the guards to leave?'

'They were breaking things, Sire,' said Katran. 'I was frightened. I swear I didn't mean to…'

'I see. So you had nothing to hide?'

'No, Sire, I swear. We don't know anything about… rebels or anything, we just wanted… I just want to go home, Sire. Please, I want to go home.'

'Are you sure you have nothing to tell me, Katran?' said Galbatorix, moving a little closer. 'Are you completely sure? Just tell me. These rebels are dangerous, Katran. They are murderers. They want to disrupt the peace, and they will kill people to do it. They must be stopped, before they do something to hurt people like yourself and your family. When I catch up with them, they will suffer for their crimes. And anyone who helps me to bring them to justice will be rewarded.'

'Y-yes, Sire, I understand.'

'Good. I will leave you to think about it. Tomorrow I will come back and we will talk again. Until then, think carefully and decide if there is anything you can do to help me.'

'I will, Sire.'

Galbatorix nodded and left the cell. He very much doubted she would say anything different tomorrow, and he hid his irritation with some effort. If the rest of the prisoners turned out to be terrified civilians taken into custody for annoying the city guard, then their captain would very quickly find himself unemployed.

His guide paused before opening the next cell. 'I should probably call someone to help me with this one, Sire.'

'Go ahead.'

The guard nodded and called another man over to join him. They unlocked the door, drew their swords and entered. A brief scuffle ensued, and when Galbatorix entered he found the prisoner sitting on the bench between the two guards, his arms pinned.

This one was not a terrified girl, but a heavily-built bald man wearing a leather jerkin, who strained desperately to break free of the guards when Galbatorix came in, his eyes wide and fixed on his face.

Galbatorix kept a sensible distance from him. 'Your name,' he said.

'Edwin,' the man spat.

'And you are from?'

The man didn't reply.

'He was arrested in the Southern Quarter, Sire,' one of the guards put in. 'He owns a butcher shop there.'

'And why were you arrested, Edwin?' said Galbatorix.

Edwin said nothing. He was baring his teeth, and his wide eyes had a look of both terror and rage in them, as if he both wanted to fight and run away. A dangerous man.

'He attacked the city guard when they tried to search his cellar, Sire,' said the guard holding his right arm. 'He nearly killed one of them.'

'I see. And did you find anything in this cellar, by any chance?'

'Nothing, Sire. But we have our suspicions that it may have been used as a meeting-place for rebels.'

'That's a lie!' Edwin roared. He groaned as one of the guards thumped him in the stomach.

Galbatorix stood over him, looking directly at him with the full force of the stare he knew frightened people. 'Listen to me, Edwin,' he said. 'And listen closely. Stop struggling, or I will have to have you chained. You have no option but to give me the information I want from you. But you are free to choose whether you want to give it to me the easy way, or the hard way. And let me assure you… the hard way is not a way any sane man should wish to go. If you tell me what you know, you will be rewarded for your co-operation. But if I have to extract the knowledge from you, you will suffer the full penalty for any crimes you have committed. Do I make myself clear?'

Edwin had stilled. He seemed to be thinking. 'I ain't done nothin',' he said at last.

'That's for me to decide. You're already in trouble for assaulting the city guard, and obstructing the law is a serious crime. If I were you, I wouldn't want to add anything else to that list. Now tell me – what were you trying to hide?'

'I didn't want them guards poking around my house,' said Edwin. 'They ain't got no right. It's harassment. I won't stand for it.'

'They were doing their duty. And as a citizen of the Empire, your own duty is to help them keep the peace. Who was using that cellar?'

'No-one. Just a friend.'

'His name?'

Edwin sighed. 'Jayse. Jayse… Baenborn. He wanted to use my cellar to store some things in.'

'What things would these be, Edwin?'

'I dunno. I didn't ask. Just stuff.'

'But he used the cellar for other things as well, didn't he?'

Silence.

'Nothing much. Nothing suspicious,' Galbatorix went on. 'Just a little get-together with a few friends. And you weren't going to complain, because he was your friend, and he paid you extra for your discretion. It wasn't anything _wrong._ Just a favour for a friend.'

'It was, Sire,' said Edwin. 'He only did it once that I know of. When I was away.'

'But you weren't sure, were you, Edwin? You had your suspicions. Especially since you knew about some of Jayse's new friends. The things they'd been saying and doing. Dangerous things. So you were frightened when the guards came. You didn't know what you'd been caught up in, but you didn't like it. So you panicked.'

Edwin stared at him for a few moments, and then sagged gently on the bench. 'Yes. Yes that's it. I didn't…'

Galbatorix resisted the temptation to smirk. 'There, that wasn't so hard, now was it? Can you tell me anything more about this friend of yours, Edwin? Where he lives? Do you know the names of any of his friends?'

'He lives in the Northern Quarter, Sire. He's a carpenter. But I haven't seen him in months, Sire. He vanished right after he used my cellar. Left all his things behind.'

'What do you know about his friends?'

'Nothing, really, Sire. Didn't get any of their names. Except…'

'Yes?'

'I remember him mentioning someone called "Jeod". I think that was it. Just once. Said he was a friend.'

'Is that all?'

'Yes, Sire.'

'Thankyou, Edwin. I will visit you again tomorrow, but if you have nothing more to tell me you will be released.'

'Yes, Sire. Thankyou, Sire.'

Galbatorix left the cell. Well, it wasn't much, but it was a lead. He hoped the remaining prisoners would be more helpful.

They weren't. There were three more prisoners in the dungeons, and of those one had been arrested for refusing to let the guard search his home – because he had been using it to store smuggled goods – the second had attempted to bribe them into leaving him alone, and the third had been taken into custody for making clearly ridiculous claims about setting fire to the castle. Galbatorix interrogated each of them, and they were surly and frightened, but co-operative enough. Once he was satisfied that none of them had any knowledge of or association with the Varden, he gave orders for them to be transferred to the regular prison and dealt with according to their individual crimes; the extortionist and the smuggler would be fined, and the third man would be released with a warning. As for Katran, Galbatorix relented and had her released. The poor girl was terrified, and keeping her locked up when she had obviously done nothing wrong was simply cruel and excessive. As for Edwin, he would stay a while longer, until Galbatorix was certain he had revealed everything he knew. In the meantime, he returned to the castle and ordered the captain of the city guard to put out a warrant for Jayse Baenborn. If they were lucky, he would be caught eventually. As it was, the search had almost certainly scared the Varden cell into laying low or possibly leaving the city altogether. If he kept the populace on high alert, they would find it very hard to resume their activities. Sooner or later, they would slip up. And the moment he had one of them in his custody, it would go very hard with them.

Once he had dealt with all this, Galbatorix paused briefly for a small dinner and then retreated to his room again, where he wrote a letter to Vander commanding him to come to Urû'baen immediately. Once he had sent the messenger bird on its way, he went to bed. He was in no mood for another excursion into the city, and, besides, he had to be alert the next day when the Surdans arrived. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered yet again what they wanted. He hoped they would have something good to tell him. He wasn't sure how many more disasters he could cope with.


	11. The Last Betrayal

Chapter Eleven

The Last Betrayal

Galbatorix woke up early the next morning, and almost instantly remembered about the Surdans. He washed and dressed, muttering irritably to himself, had breakfast up on the dragon roost with Shruikan, and then went to work. Someone came to inform him that the delegation was within sight and would be at the city gates in less than an hour, and Galbatorix gave orders to the castle's servants to clean and decorate the dining hall appropriately, ready for the guests to have lunch there with him when they arrived. Once everything was in order, he put on his best robe and boots, and the crown, and waited around at a loose end until someone came to inform him that the Surdans had entered the city.

Galbatorix had the castle's gates thrown open and the captain of the castle guard organised a row of guardsmen in ceremonial armour to line the causeway leading from the outer gate to the doors leading into the castle. Galbatorix stood at the top of the steps, in the open doorway, looking down over the causeway below him and the gates beyond. Shruikan came to perch on the castle roof just over the doors, his huge presence looming over the causeway like a guardian. As the Surdans came up toward the castle, they would see the King of Alagaësia awaiting them beneath his dragon's talons. The impression would be grand and powerful, which was exactly how Galbatorix had judged it. It never hurt to remind people of his power and status.

He waited patiently, the light breeze ruffling his hair, and at last the Surdans came in sight. They were coming up through the city's widest street – a large group of at least twenty men and women, some on horseback. There was a small horse-drawn wagon at the centre of their group. No – more of a litter; its occupant hidden by fine white curtains. Shruikan shifted slightly. _'What's this?'_

'_I don't know…'_

The delegation came up the causeway, moving slowly, and when they had nearly reached the bottom of the steps Galbatorix came down to meet them. The foremost of them, a man clad in leather armour and bearing a curved sword, knelt to him. 'Sire. I am Lord Owyn, brother to King Emeril of Surda. I come in peace.'

Galbatorix inclined his head. 'Welcome to my home, Lord Owyn. I am honoured to receive you. If you would direct your guard to the barracks, they will be given food and a place to rest, and your horses will be taken to the royal stable where they will be well looked-after. Yourself and those with you are invited to come into the castle and share a meal with myself and some of my court.'

Lord Owyn stood up. 'Thankyou, King Galbatorix. We shall be honoured.'

Two of the people attending the litter had pulled the curtain aside, and Galbatorix watched as they helped someone get out. A young woman, clad in fine silks, her face veiled. She came forward, helped by Lord Owyn, who presented her to Galbatorix, saying; 'This is my niece, the Princess Eluna.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'It is an honour to meet you, my Lady. Welcome to Urû'baen.'

Princess Eluna curtsied to him. 'King Galbatorix,' she said softly. 'The honour is mine.'

Galbatorix offered her his arm. 'Would you care to join me, my Lady?'

She took it, and walked beside him up the steps and into the castle. Lord Owyn and a group of other Surdan nobles who were among the delegation came too.

Galbatorix headed for the dining hall, walking slowly so as not to rush Eluna, whose silk gown looked like something of a burden. He couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable. No woman had touched him in a long time other than the one who looked after his fingernails.

When he reached the dining hall, he was glad to see it had been nicely decorated – the table was adorned with flowers, and brightly-coloured banners hung from the walls. Plenty of good food had been laid out, and the place was well-lit and smelt sweet.

Galbatorix sat down in his usual spot at the head of the table, and Eluna silently took a chair to his right, while her uncle sat opposite her. A number of Alagaësian nobles – Lord Walden and a few other lords, ladies and assorted hangers-on – had joined them along the way, and before long every seat at the table was occupied and the feast began.

Galbatorix wasn't particularly hungry. He nibbled at a dish of nuts and made sure Princess Eluna and Lord Owyn had everything they wanted. Owyn appeared quite relaxed, and gratefully accepted some fine Teirmish wine. Eluna, however, ate nothing at all. She seemed to want to look at Galbatorix, but she kept glancing at him and looking away again. She looked, he thought, extremely uncomfortable.

'So,' he said, hoping to put her at her ease. 'How was your journey, my Lady?'

Eluna looked up. 'It was… long, Sire.'

'But not unpleasant?'

'It was pleasant, Sire,' Eluna said at last. 'I have never seen Alagaësia before.'

'And did you like it, my Lady?'

'It's… different, Sire. Greener than Surda.'

'"Alagaësia" means "fertile land",' said Galbatorix. 'There is plenty of greenness to go around.' It was an extremely weak attempt at humour, but he had hoped it might raise a smile. It didn't.

'Tell me, Lord Owyn, how are affairs in Surda?' he said, deciding to leave her alone for the time being. 'I have not visited your country in a long time.'

'We are well, Sire,' said Owyn. 'My brother is a strong ruler. We have had a small problem with lack of rainfall, but this year's corn harvest was more than adequate.'

'I am glad to hear it. From what Lord Vander tells me, Surda is as prosperous as Alagaësia is.'

'Alas, not quite as prosperous as we would like, Sire,' said Owyn. 'But we hope, as you do, that our alliance may help us both.'

'As it always has,' said Galbatorix. 'I am sure it will continue to do so. But I must say I am a little surprised that you brought such a large delegation with you.'

'Many of our nobles wished to be here to witness the ceremony, Sire,' Lord Owyn explained. 'It will, after all, be very significant to us all in the years to come.'

Galbatorix paused. What in the world was the man going on about? He decided it would be rude to ask him outright, and said; 'Well, it is not a burden. All of you are welcome here.' He glanced at Eluna. She had evidently been listening. She was still wearing her veil. 'My Lady,' he said to her, trying to sound warm. 'Could I ask you to remove your veil? I would like to see your face, if I may.'

Eluna glanced at her uncle before she obeyed. Her face, when it was revealed, was round and young. She could be no older than nineteen. Her eyes were dark grey, and she had light brown hair, anointed with some kind of scented oil and strung with gold and copper beads.

Galbatorix regarded her. Somehow, the sight of her made him feel a strange sense of unease. Perhaps it was because she was Surdan, like his first love, Flell, mother of his murdered daughter. But she reminded him, too, of Kaelyn – one of the Forsworn. Like Tuomas and Gern, she had only been a half-trained apprentice rider when she fell in with him. Galbatorix had completed her training as well as he could, but during that time Kaelyn had fallen hopelessly in love with him. He had brushed her off at first – she was not his type, and besides, he had made a promise. But she had persisted, and just once, just for a moment, he had wavered on the edge of betraying the promise he had made. He had never forgiven himself for it, or for hurting Kaelyn in the process. Even though she had never tried to make any advances on him, she had continued to try and win his admiration. Her efforts had done nothing but cause trouble, and after he was nearly killed in an attempt to rescue her from captivity in Gil'ead, he had finally exerted his authority over her and forbidden her from speaking to him again except for purely formal reasons. The rift between them had never healed after that, and she had been one of those who died in Ilirea.

But she too had had grey eyes and light brown hair, just as Flell had done, and now Galbatorix saw both of them in Princess Eluna's pale young face.

He forced a smile. 'So this is Princess Eluna of Surda. The tales I heard did not do justice to your beauty, my Lady.'

'Thankyou, Sire.'

'So, Sire,' said Lord Owyn. 'If I may ask…'

Galbatorix turned to him. 'Yes, Lord Owyn?'

Owyn put down his goblet and wiped his mouth before he spoke. 'I was wondering what arrangements you had made for the betrothal, Sire.'

Galbatorix stared at him, his mind racing. He must have forgotten something. 'Did you have any particular preference, my Lord?' he said eventually, hoping to buy some time.

'We are in no hurry, Sire,' said Owyn. 'But if I may say so, I see no reason to delay the matter. I must return to Surda within a month, to resume my duties there.'

'I understand. I assume you will be attending?'

'But of course, Sire. Along with our entire delegation. I trust we will be holding it here?'

'Yes,' Galbatorix guessed.

'Have you selected a day?' said Owyn.

Galbatorix gave up. 'I am terribly sorry, Lord Owyn, and please forgive me for my lapse, but… what betrothal are we discussing?'

Lord Owyn looked nonplussed. 'Why, yours, of course, Sire. There are no others that I am aware of.'

Galbatorix went cold. 'I beg your pardon?'

'The Alagaësian alliance must be sealed quickly, Sire,' said Owyn. 'We have brought your bride to you, and we would prefer to see the betrothal carried out as soon as possible. The wedding itself can wait a little while.'

'I see,' said Galbatorix, his stomach lurching.

'Your ambassador led me to believe you would have the ceremony organised in time for our arrival, Sire,' Lord Owyn went on. 'Has there been some problem I am not aware of?'

Galbatorix was silent for a long time. 'Now is not the time for this discussion,' he said at last – a non-answer that had served him well in the past. 'You are tired from your journey. Eat, my Lord. I have had rooms prepared for yourself and your companions. We can discuss the betrothal tonight, when you have rested.'

Lord Owyn paused. 'Very well, Sire,' he said, and returned to his food.

Galbatorix stared into the distance. His head was spinning. How could this have happened?

The answer came to him quickly enough. His fists clenched. _'Vander.'_

So that was why Vander had stopped answering the letters sent to him. He had not been in Feinster to receive them. He had been in Surda, talking to King Emeril. The gods alone knew how long he had been planning this. He'd gone behind Galbatorix's back.

Galbatorix glanced at Princess Eluna, and knew he was trapped. Everything had been signed and sealed. The betrothal itself was a mere formality. This poor girl had been sent here to marry him, almost certainly against her will, and he was faced with an impossible decision. If he sent her back to Surda, it would be a grave insult to her father. So grave, in fact, that it would almost certainly sour the relationship between the two countries for good. And this was exactly what Vander had wanted. He had known that if he arranged Galbatorix's marriage without consulting him, it would put him into a corner. He would be forced to go through with it whether he wanted to or not.

He closed his eyes and let the conversation wash over him.

'_Galbatorix?'_ Shruikan's voice intruded. _'What's going on?'_

'_Oh, nothing much,'_ said Galbatorix. _'I've just been married off without realising it, that's all.'_

'_What?'_

Galbatorix filled him in on the details.

'_Vander!'_ Shruikan exclaimed. _'What in the gods' names does he think he's playing at?'_

'_I don't know. But when I get to him, he's going to have a lot of explaining to do.'_

In his private workroom in the small sandstone fortress of Feinster, Vander took a dried sprig of _thint_ leaves from a small leather pouch and dropped it into a stone bowl. He added two other herbs, picked up a pestle and began methodically grinding them down. The scrape of stone and the faint _crunch_ of the desiccated plants made the only sound in the room, and he sighed and felt it relax him as it always did. His work in Feinster was tough and demanding – more so than he had ever admitted to Galbatorix, or to anyone else – and he liked to retreat into his workroom in the evenings and pursue his own interests. He had been fascinated by herbs ever since his boyhood, and had already begun an apprenticeship as a healer when he had gone to the trials and become a rider. Even now he was still learning more about the properties of different plants, and as a rider he had made a special study of the different healing spells. There were few injuries or diseases that he could not treat, and, thanks to his efforts, Feinster had one of the healthiest populations anywhere in Alagaësia.

By the time he put down the pestle, the herbs had been ground into a fine powder. He picked up a tiny, long-handled silver spoon and scooped some of it into a glass flask. Moving quickly and efficiently, he added two drops of red liquid from a tiny stone bottle and a pinch of a light grey powder. He stirred it with a clay rod, and then selected a number of thin dried roots to grind down. Once they had been shredded, he tipped them in as well, and left the mixture to stand. There was a letter on the table, its ink still wet. Vander picked up his quill, paused to re-read it, and added the last line. _…I will return to Urû'baen soon, and when we meet I hope you can forgive me. It has always been my honour to serve you. Vander Zynthad of Feinster._

He signed the letter with his titles, and then put down the quill and returned to the mixture in the flask. It had finished soaking by now, so he jammed a cork into the flask and shook it vigorously, pausing to examine it every so often. He'd judged the amounts perfectly, and, sure enough, the potion slowly turned the dark reddish-brown of old blood.

'_Perfect.'_

'_What are you making?'_ said Ymazu.

'_Just a sleeping potion.'_

'_Ah.'_ Ymazu's voice was knowing. Vander had been sleeping poorly for the last few weeks. Stress didn't agree with him. Unlike Morzan, he had never been much of a fighter. His skills as a tactician and healer had been the most valuable contribution he had made to the Forsworn, and now, in peacetime, Galbatorix had wisely seen fit to give him a position that was almost purely diplomatic. Negotiating trade agreements and keeping the Surdans happy had become his life's work. And he had found it rewarding, too. He had come to love Surda; its hot, dry climate suited him perfectly, and he liked its people and its customs. And they, too, seemed to like him. At first they had received him with suspicion, perhaps fearing that, as one of the Forsworn, he would be treacherous and power-hungry. But he had won their trust, bit by bit, and in the end the little country had become like a second home to him.

The potion was finished. Vander boiled it with a quick spell, and cooled it again with another before he stowed it away in his tunic. He checked the letter – the ink had dried by now, and he carefully folded and sealed it and put it into his pocket. It was getting on for sunset, so he tidied up his workroom and locked the doors. The fortress was very different than the castles at Urû'baen, Teirm, Dras-Leona or Gil'ead. It had been built by Surdan settlers, centuries ago, when they had begun to spread into Alagaësia. The riders of old had quickly reclaimed the land and driven the Surdans back into their homeland, but some of the larger buildings they had built had remained behind as a testament. The fortress of Feinster was made of rough yellow sandstone, and its roofs were domed. The stonework had been coated with clay that had been in turn painted with simple but attractive designs and patterns in various shades of red and orange. The interiors were well-lit, and the rooms and corridors had pleasing curves and arched ceilings and doorways, all well-lit by carefully-placed skylights. This was a dry part of the country, and most of the water supply came from the nearby Jiet River. As Vander passed a window, he could hear the shouts of the fishermen down in the bay, and the cries of the traders in the marketplace below. It was a sound he loved.

His own room was simple and sparse, just as he liked it; the walls were decorated with drapes of brightly-coloured cloth, and his bed was a knee-high wooden frame that held a woven grass mat. Vander opened a small cupboard and put on a clean white shirt and a sleeveless purple and yellow vest decorated with gold thread. Once he had finished doing up the fastenings, he checked himself in the polished silver mirror. He looked tired and a little worn – the last few months had taken their toll on him. There were a few more white hairs scattered over his head, but the thin moustache and small beard he had grown were still black and neatly trimmed and oiled, as the Surdan fashion dictated. He smiled a little sadly at his reflection, and turned away. It would be sunset soon, and he picked up a pair of large earthenware jars sealed with wax and carried them with him up to the roof. There was a massive balcony up there, which had once been used to allow a Surdan noble to look down on the city. Now it served as a roost for Ymazu.

The old dragon, her scales a rich golden brown and her wings dark yellow, was basking in the sun, her head resting on the stone railing at the edge of the balcony. As a plains dragon, Ymazu was much smaller than Shruikan and his kind. She had stopped growing at twenty years of age, and never become any larger than an elephant. But she was more than big enough to carry the small, thin Vander. She was stockier and more compact than a mountain dragon, and the vanes of her wings were spiked, like the branches of a tough desert plant.

When Vander appeared, she growled softly at him and moved her tail to give him room beside her. He put down the two jars, and took his knife from his belt. _'Something for us to drink,'_ he said. He cut through the wax seal of one jar, and poured the contents into a huge stone dish left on the balcony near to Ymazu.

She sniffed at it. _'What is it? It smells… odd.'_

'_Just water. I added some herbs to make it taste sweeter.'_

Ymazu tasted it thoughtfully. _'It's good.'_

Vander smiled and began to remove the seal on the other jar. _'I brought some wine for myself.' _

He'd left a cup on the balcony, and he poured some of the wine into it and sat on the guardrail to drink it, heedless of the extreme height.

Ymazu rested her head beside him. _'What's the occasion?'_

'_The realisation of our dream, of course. What else?'_

'_You mean the _possible_ realisation of our dream,'_ Ymazu corrected.

Vander drank deeply. _'I have no doubts any more, Ymazu. The time for that has passed. Galbatorix won't let us down.'_

'_How can you be sure?'_ said Ymazu.

'_He won't,'_ Vander repeated. _'Not now.'_

'_He'll be angry with you,'_ said Ymazu. _'He could banish us for this.'_

'_I'm not afraid,'_ said Vander. _'I did what I did for the good of the country. Galbatorix is a great ruler, Ymazu. Greater than anyone will ever admit. The Mad King! They call him that after a hundred years of peace and stability. I hate to think what they would call him if he were not such a good ruler. They don't even seem to realise how much better things have become since Vrael was overthrown. No… greatness is greatness even if it goes unrecognised. Even he refuses to acknowledge it. But everything he does is for the good of the Empire. He sacrificed everything he had for it. What I did was for the good of the Empire as well, and he knows that. No matter how much he dislikes it, he will see the need to put his own feelings aside. The alternative would be disastrous.'_

'_Even so,'_ said Ymazu. _'What you did amounts to treason. Even if Galbatorix goes through with it, he will still punish you. You know how much he hates to be manipulated. Forcing him to do anything …' _she broke off and yawned.

Vander emptied his cup. _'Yes, yes, I know. It was a calculated risk.'_

'_More than a risk. A certainty.'_

'_Eluna will be at Urû'baen by now,'_ said Vander, ignoring her. _'I think Galbatorix will like her. And once she gets to know him…'_ he sighed and refilled his cup.

Ymazu drank deeply from her dish of water. _'Every King needs a Queen,'_ she admitted at last. _'You're right, Vander. Eventually he'll thank you.'_

'_I feel like a traitor,'_ said Vander. _'But the plan will work. No matter what happens, I am the only one in danger. If it comes out that I lied, Galbatorix and Emeril will turn on me, not each other. I will fully admit that Galbatorix knew nothing about what I was doing. I wrote it out in the ancient language and entered it into the records here as well, and in my journal. There will be no doubts in the matter.'_

Ymazu sighed. _'You're a courageous man, Vander.'_

Vander chuckled and drank some more wine. _'No I'm not. I've always been a coward. I never distinguished myself in the war, and never led any of the attacks. Galbatorix knew I wasn't much of a fighter. That's why he sent us here. Because he knows that a weak man always has to rely on his ability to negotiate. Cowards make the best strategists and diplomats, and always have done.'_

'_Don't, Vander,'_ Ymazu said gently.

'_It doesn't bother me,'_ said Vander. _'I didn't intend to sound bitter. I accept my limitations, just as we should all do. And I accept my talents. I know I'm a better diplomat than Galbatorix will ever be. He doesn't have the patience. He's too solitary and independent-minded, and too inflexible. And I know I'm a better healer and herbalist than any of the others ever were, even Roland.'_

'_And you were the best plainsman the Forsworn ever had,'_ Ymazu added, chuckling.

'_Oh, and that too,'_ said Vander. He took another mouthful of wine. _'Ahh… this is a good vintage. I can taste the cactus-fruit in it.'_

'_May I try some?'_ said Ymazu.

'_All right, if you'd like to.'_

The light brown dragon opened her mouth, and Vander poured some wine on her tongue. She closed her mouth and swallowed, then shuddered and bared her teeth in disgust. _'Ugh! It's horrible! How can you stand to drink it?'_

'_Quite easily,'_ said Vander, grinning. He emptied his cup, and reached for the jar again.

'_Don't drink too much,'_ said Ymazu. _'You're making me-,'_ she yawned again.

Vander poured himself a third cup of wine, and looked out over Feinster, holding it in his hand. The sun was dipping below the horizon in a blaze of dark orange and gold, and the sea below it sparkled blue and white. They could see the sails of the small vessels heading out for an evening of fishing. Around the shore people were gathering shellfish in grass baskets slung on their shoulders, and further inland the covered market was closing down for the night. They could hear the voices drifting up toward them, mingling many different languages and accents – Surdan and Alagaësian alike. But all those people, Vander knew, lived their lives under his shadow. He and Ymazu would sit together on the balcony every evening and watch over the city as they were doing now. Vander often wondered if, when people looked up toward the fort and saw him there, they thought of him as a guardian and protector, or as something more menacing – a constant reminder of the rule of the Empire, and of Galbatorix's power over their lives. Did they hate him or love him? He knew he would never know.

'_You did not want her to go,'_ Ymazu said softly.

Vander stirred himself. _'Of course I did.'_

'_But part of you wanted her to stay.'_

'_Yes,'_ said Vander. _'But what does it matter? It's behind me. Like so many other things.'_ He sighed and drank deeply. _'I'm tired, Ymazu. So tired. I've been tired for so many years. I never wanted to be immortal.'_

'_A hundred and thirty years is a long time for any man,'_ Ymazu admitted.

'_Too long,'_ said Vander. _'I kept myself occupied for a long time, but… now it feels like I've finished everything I had to do.'_

'_There'll be other things, Vander,'_ said Ymazu.

'_Perhaps.'_ Vander was silent for a long time. _'Do you remember how we first met?'_

'_Of course I do,' _said Ymazu. She shared a feeling of deep love. _'I remember the first time I saw you. I wobbled out of my egg like a half-drowned rat – I couldn't see properly, or stand up under my own power. I fell over, and the next thing I knew something big and warm was lifting me up. I didn't know what it was, but I liked it. And then…'_

'_Then the bond was forged,'_ said Vander. _'I remember that very well. I nearly panicked. I thought I was dying.'_

'_And afterwards I could feel you in my head,'_ said Ymazu. _'I was confused, but I felt so… safe. And I looked up and saw a boy looking down at me, with his hair all hanging into his eyes, and I thought… well, I was too young to think. But the moment I saw you, I knew.'_

'_Knew what?'_ said Vander.

'_Knew I was safe,'_ Ymazu said simply. _'Knew I had found what I had looked for for so long. Hundreds of people had touched my egg, but none of them were right. I knew I was a plains dragon even then. I still remembered hearing my mother die on the day they stole me from her. I rejected everyone. But then you came. A plainsman for a plains dragon. And I hatched. It was fate.'_

Vander touched her snout, his heart bursting with love for her. _'Sometimes I regret the fact that I never married. But I could never say I spent my life alone. I had you. Ymazu… you were the greatest joy in my life. You made me happier than anyone else ever could have. I could never imagine us being apart, and we never will be. I love you, Ymazu. With all my heart.'_

Ymazu smiled with her eyes and crooned deep in her chest. _'And I love you, Vander. I always have. You are a great man. The day I chose you to be the other half of my heart was the greatest day of my life.'_

'_So you have no regrets?'_

'_No, Vander. None. For as long as we are together, I will always be certain, and no pain or challenge would be too great for me. I am…'_ her voice faltered. She tried to raise her head, but sighed and let it slump down again. _'Oh, I'm so tired…'_

Vander stroked her head. _'It's all right, Ymazu. You can rest now. Sleep. I'll watch over you.'_

Ymazu yawned. _'Will you?'_

'_Yes. I won't leave you. I would never leave you.'_

The plains dragon half-raised one wing, and then let it fall limply back into place, hanging down over her flank. Vander got down from the guard rails and embraced her, laying his head against the side of her neck. _'It's all right,'_ he whispered. _'It's all right, Ymazu. I'm here. I've got you. We're safe. We're all right.'_

Ymazu's golden eyes closed slowly. _'Good night, Vander.'_

Vander stayed with her until she was asleep, and kissed her scales. 'It's all right,' he said again. 'Sleep, Ymazu.'

He put down his cup of wine and sat down, huddling into the warm space between Ymazu's forelegs with his back to her chest. He could feel her great heart beating steadily, like a drum, and he looked out over the city once more. It was dusk by now, and the stars were out. Soon the people would begin returning to their homes, to eat and sleep. The ending of another day, warm and still from the Surdan sun.

Vander checked that the letter was still in his pocket. It was there, and he took it out and tucked it into one of the small slit-pockets in his vest, where it would be easily found. He finished off the last of the wine, and rather unsteadily put the cup down on the stone beside him. Ymazu's sleeping mind was adding drowsiness to that already caused by the wine, and he could see the ghostly images of her dreams darting in front of his eyes. She was dreaming of their youth together, when they had chased each other through a sunny glade, laughing and teasing each other.

Vander smiled sadly. He took the bottle of potion from his pocket, and removed the cork. For a moment he held onto it, watching the dark red liquid swirl gently inside its glass prison. He wondered if he would dream.

'A weak man,' he murmured, and drank the potion in one long swallow.

It went down easily. The dried roots he'd added had sweetened it, but couldn't quite take off the bitter edge. He set the empty bottle down next to his wine cup, and sat back, folding his hands in his lap.

The potion took effect almost instantly. His vision started to go grey, and tiredness pressed down on his brain. For a moment he felt a little stab of fear, but it quickly died away. He sighed – a long, deep sigh, full of a weariness that he had carried inside him for decades but never been able to release until now. His eyes closed, as if the lids were being dragged downward by a great weight, and the world around him vanished.

At first he saw nothing but blackness, but then, slowly, it opened up and he saw a place appear before his eyes. It was a great plain, stretching far into the distance like a dry sea. Grass swayed and rippled in the wind, brown like Ymazu's scales. He could smell its rich, spicy scent, and hear the click and buzz of insects in the heat haze that lay over the land. Somewhere in the distance a mighty river wove its way between the small foothills that rose out of the plain, and he could see a herd of wild horses drinking from it. Dragons flew overhead – small, stocky dragons with rich brown scales, filling the air with hoots and roars as they chased each other here and there, swooping low over the plains and rising back into the sky with absolute and natural grace. He looked upward, and saw Ymazu among them, her voice calling for him to come to her.

On the balcony high above Feinster, Vander's mouth twitched gently and formed into a soft, peaceful smile.

The expression faded a few moments later, and his hands, still clasped together in his lap, relaxed and fell to his sides. Vander's face went slack, and his head slumped sideways, sliding down Ymazu's flank until it came to rest on her foreleg.

The sun had finished setting, and night was coming. Below, in the city, people were sharing the evening meal in their homes, and warm firelight spilled out of the windows and onto the streets. After a while, a yellow crescent moon rose high over the ocean.

But Vander never saw it.


	12. Moonlit

Chapter Twelve

Moonlit

Galbatorix spent the rest of the meal with the Surdans in almost complete silence. He did his best to evade any further questions Lord Owyn asked him about the betrothal, and the ambassador eventually took the hint and settled for pleasantries about trade, farming and politics. Princess Eluna said virtually nothing as well. She eventually did eat, albeit sparingly, and Galbatorix's heart went out to her. The poor girl had to be feeling even more trapped than he was. This wasn't her fault, and he resolved that, no matter what course of action he decided to take, he would take the time to explain himself to her and ask her to forgive him.

That opportunity presented itself very quickly; when the meal ended Lord Owyn turned to him and said; 'A most excellent meal, Sire. If I may, I would like to retire to my room and recover from the journey. As for the Princess, I suggest that the two of you spend some time alone. No doubt it would be best for you two to begin to acquaint yourselves.'

Galbatorix nodded, feeling oddly relieved. 'As you wish, Lord Owyn.'

He called for the servants to show him and his fellow Surdans to their quarters, and the dining hall eventually emptied. Princess Eluna, however, remained behind, staring at the tabletop.

When the door had closed on the last of them, Galbatorix reached out and gently lifted her chin. She looked him in the face, and he saw that her eyes were red-rimmed.

'Be calm, my Lady,' he said, feeling like a brute. 'I won't hurt you. I only want to talk to you.'

Eluna regarded him warily. 'I am not afraid, Sire,' she said.

Galbatorix withdrew his hand and stood up. She watched him as he moved away from the table and began to pace back and forth, shoulders hunched and brow furrowed, deep in thought.

Eventually, he stopped and turned to face her. 'You're afraid of me,' he said softly.

Eluna started. 'No, Sire. Never.'

'Don't lie,' said Galbatorix. 'You're afraid of me. I can see it in your eyes.'

Eluna said nothing.

Galbatorix breathed in deeply. 'My Lady… Eluna… I am sorry for this. More than I can say. I did not want to put you in this situation, but it seems my hand has been forced.'

'It is for the good of our countries, Sire,' said Eluna.

Galbatorix sat down facing her. 'Please,' he said. 'Call me Galbatorix.'

'I… I would rather not, Sire.'

'As you wish.' Galbatorix watched her closely, seeing the look in her eyes. 'But you _are_ afraid of me,' he said again. 'You're terrified. You cried for most of the journey here. When you found out what was going to happen to you, the prospect was so terrible you thought of killing yourself.'

Eluna had become very still. 'I…' she shuddered lightly. 'Why do you say that, Sire?'

She was asking him how he knew. 'I'm not accusing you, my Lady,' he said. 'I understand. Why should any woman be delighted by the idea of marrying me? I wouldn't expect you to be. And no, I can't read your mind. I know you're afraid of me because there's no-one who isn't. Even my oldest friends are a little frightened of me. But…' he reached out and dared to take her hand in his. 'I can be a good man, sometimes. I don't hate you, and I don't want you to be unhappy. Can you forgive me for doing this to you, Eluna?'

The princess was staring at their clasped hands with shock. Galbatorix let go hastily, and watched her. She continued to look at her hand for a moment, and then she finally looked him in the face. Properly, this time. 'I don't blame you, Sire,' she said.

Galbatorix sighed. 'No… I suppose it isn't really my fault. But it sickens me how people like you are used as bargaining tools. For the last… ever since I was crowned, people have been trying to force me to marry for political convenience. I refused. I didn't want to marry, and especially not for those reasons. But now it seems I've run out of options. I know it's cold comfort, but I'm as much of a pawn here as you are. We are both tools to be used for the greater good. That is what it means to be royal.'

'I know, Sire.'

'Yes… of course you do. Eluna…' Galbatorix looked her in the eye. 'For what it's worth, I'll make you a promise. I promise that I will do everything in my power to give you a happy life and to keep you safe.'

Eluna watched him uncertainly, but then she smiled for the first time since they had met. 'Thankyou, Sire.'

Galbatorix returned the smile, a little hesitantly. 'Tell me, my Lady, would you like to see some more of my Empire?'

'I would, Sire.'

'Then meet me at my bedchamber at sunset. Wear something plain but warm – we'll be going outdoors.'

'Should I come alone, Sire?'

'Yes. We won't need any guards. We'll have plenty of protection.'

Galbatorix avoided other people that afternoon and retreated to his bedchamber, where he locked the door and tossed the crown onto his desk. The formal robe was weighing him down, so he took it off and put it away. After that, unable to rest, he paced back and forth, shoulders hunched, moving with a delicate, predatory stalk, like a panther in a cage.

'_What am I going to do? What in the gods' names am I going to do?'_

Shruikan shared a feeling of unease. _'I don't know…'_

'_How could Vander do this to me? I can't marry this poor girl!'_

'_Why? Is she ugly?'_

'_No, she's quite… well, she's not ugly. Not at all. But she's petrified of me. And besides, she can't be any older than seventeen. She's hardly more than a child.'_

'_What does that matter? You wouldn't be marrying her for love.'_

'_Yes. I know.'_ He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. _'Gods damn him! What in the gods' names possessed him to do something like this? Did he think I'd just let him get away with it?'_

'_No. He's not a fool. He would have known you would be angry.'_

'_Angry? _Angry?_ He's betrayed me! If I don't marry this princess, King Emeril will declare war on me. And if I do…'_

'_Well, then, what choice do you have?'_

'_I don't know. And with the Varden and the elves already causing trouble… and the gods alone know what the dwarves could be up to… I'm trapped, aren't I?'_

'_Perhaps. But you are still the King. You don't have to accept this.'_

Galbatorix sat down on his hammock. _'I need to think…'_

'_Think fast. This ambassador will be wanting an explanation next time you meet, and you'd better hope you have a good one for him.'_

'_Oh, I can delay him for a little while. Pretend I have other things to attend to.'_

'_So what are you going to do?'_

'_I don't know, but I know what the right thing to do is,'_ said Galbatorix. _'I'm going to talk to this princess. She deserves to be the first person to know what's going on.'_

'_Be careful what you tell her. She's a Surdan. If you tell her anything you shouldn't, there's no way to be sure she won't tell someone else. And if you insult her… or if something happens to her…'_

'_I know, Shruikan, I know. I'll be careful.'_

Galbatorix got up and went to his desk. He took down the fairth of the silver-haired elf and sat in the chair, cradling the little piece of slate in his hands. 'Skade, how can I go through with this?' he breathed.

The elf's golden eyes seemed to stare at him from out of the slate. He touched the image of her face, as if trying to reach into the picture and find the real flesh-and-blood woman who had inspired it. 'I don't want to forget you,' he said softly.

'_She is not coming back, Galbatorix,'_ said Shruikan. _'You know that. And even if she did, you could never make her your Queen.'_

Galbatorix put down the slate, on the desk beside the crown. _'But I still love her, Shruikan.'_

'_I know you do. But she is not human. You know what happened to your parents. It's time to move on, Galbatorix. Skade is gone forever. You must make this decision as a King, not as a man.'_

There was a soft knock on the door. Galbatorix stood up and went to open it without thinking.

It was Princess Eluna. She was wearing a plain brown dress and a yellow cloak, and started nervously when he appeared.

'I've come, Sire.'

Galbatorix realised he wasn't wearing a robe, and winced. 'Oh. I'm sorry… here, come in.' He held the door open for her.

Eluna came in, and he saw her confused expression as she took in the room. 'This is your bedchamber, Sire?'

Galbatorix went to the cupboard. 'Uh… yes. Not many people ever come in here. I suppose it's rather plain, but I prefer it that way. I'm sorry, but you caught me by surprise…' he selected his plainest robe and put it on. 'There,' he said, turning back to face her as he did up the fastenings. 'That's better. So, are you ready to go?'

'Yes, Sire.'

Galbatorix opened a chest and brought out a large roll of leather. He put it on the desk, got his scabbard from the cupboard and strapped it to his back, then put White Violence into it. 'I hope I'm not alarming you at all, my Lady,' he said, picking up the roll of leather and tucking it under his arm. 'But I prefer to take my sword with me on these excursions. Shall we go?'

Eluna was looking quite bemused. 'I'm ready when you are, Sire.'

'Let's go, then.' Galbatorix hustled her out of the door and locked it behind him. He put one hand on the ladder leading up to the dragon roost. 'I hope you don't mind climbing this. There's someone I'd like you to meet.'

'I'm sure I shall manage, Sire.'

Galbatorix nodded and climbed up the ladder with surprising speed and nimbleness, given that he was burdened by his robe and by the roll of leather under his arm. He pushed open the trapdoor and emerged onto the roost, where he put the leather aside and helped Eluna into the open air. She straightened up, saw Shruikan, and stumbled backward away from him with a cry of fright. Galbatorix caught her. 'It's all right, my Lady,' he said. 'Calm down. He won't attack you.'

Shruikan was lying on his belly with his tail wrapped around him and his wings neatly folded. He lowered his head toward Eluna, who immediately tried to pull away.

'It's all right, he just wants to smell you,' said Galbatorix. 'This is Shruikan.'

Eluna closed her eyes tightly as Shruikan's snout brushed against her shoulder, his hot breath ruffling her hair. The black dragon withdrew and yawned, his huge head hanging over them as his mouth opened to reveal massive, chipped white fangs.

Galbatorix could see how frightened Eluna was, and cursed himself internally. He had forgotten how huge and frightening a dragon could look to someone who had never seen one before.

Shruikan sensed his thoughts, and brought his head down toward them again. He stared intently at Eluna for a moment, and the Princess of Surda started. 'He spoke to me!'

Galbatorix looked at her. 'What did he say?'

'He said "no need to be afraid of me, human. You are too small to be worth eating".'

Galbatorix chuckled. 'He says things like that. Don't you, Shruikan?'

Shruikan looked away in a dignified manner, and snorted.

'I think he likes you,' said Galbatorix. 'He almost never speaks to anyone except me. And he was only joking about eating you. He doesn't eat people. I'm sorry he frightened you; I didn't mean for that to happen. But Shruikan isn't just an animal. He is the other half of my heart. Anyone who wants to know me must know him as well. That is what it means to be a rider.'

Shruikan touched Eluna with his snout again, and growled softly.

'Touch him,' said Galbatorix.

Eluna hesitated and glanced at him, but his steady look back at her seemed to reassure her. She put a hand on Shruikan's snout, feeling the smooth black scales. 'He's so hot,' she said, surprised.

'Yes. That's the fire inside him. Every dragon's scales feel hot.' Galbatorix picked up the roll of leather, and unfurled it. 'And this is his saddle. Tell me, Princess Eluna… would you like to know what it's like to ride on a dragon's back?'

'I… I couldn't.'

'Come on. It would be all right. You'd be safe. I'd be with you the whole time. There are people who would do anything to try it.'

Eluna looked at him, and then at Shruikan. 'Are you sure it would be safe, Sire?'

'Of course. Just trust me.'

'Will we go far?'

'Not too far. And if you want to turn back, you only have to say so.'

Eluna finally nodded. 'I trust you, Sire.'

Galbatorix lifted the saddle, and Shruikan lay flat to let him strap it on. Eluna watched. He could tell she was confused now, and it made him smile internally. If she was confused, it was better than being afraid. He knew he was going against all the formalities expected of him, and that was his precise intention. Talking to her as a King would get nothing out of her except formalities and dishonest politeness. He wanted to know what she was really thinking, who she really was. And the best way to do that was to show her the same thing first. If he acted as came naturally to him, perhaps she would do the same.

'Why were there no guards outside your bedchamber, Sire?' the Princess asked unexpectedly. 'I thought I had come to the wrong place.'

Galbatorix tightened one of the straps around Shruikan's foreleg. 'I prefer not to be guarded all the time. No-one has ever managed to break into the castle.' _Although at least one person has managed to break out,_ he added silently. 'And besides, I can look after myself. My door is locked with magic. No-one else would be able to unlock it. Besides, having guards outside my door would make it feel like being in a prison. Don't you ever feel that way, my Lady?'

'I… sometimes, Sire.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Duty is a prison. But from time to time we can break out.' He hefted himself into the saddle, and held out a hand toward here. 'Here. Let me help you up.'

She came to him, a little reluctantly, and he pulled her up over Shruikan's shoulder and into the saddle, settling her in front of him. 'Hold onto his neck. Yes, like that. Be careful of the spikes. Now then…' he did up the leg-straps, securing both of them to the saddle. 'Don't panic, this is just to make sure we don't fall off.' He reached around her and took hold of the hand-ropes at the front of the saddle. 'Hold on tight.'

Shruikan took off. He did so carefully, without his usual quick, rough jerking motion, so gently and smoothly that Galbatorix barely felt it.

The black dragon rose steadily into the air, flying up and over Urû'baen, wings rigid to balance him. Galbatorix felt Eluna tense in the saddle, but she relaxed after a time, and he saw her moving her head, daring to peer over Shruikan's shoulder at the ground below them. She jerked in fright when she realised how high up they were, and Galbatorix tightened his grip on her slightly to reassure her that he was still there.

'Isn't it beautiful?' he said. 'From up high enough, it looks as if you could reach out and pick up the whole world with one hand.'

Shruikan flew on steadily for a time, as the sun slowly set, until Urû'baen had shrunk into the distance and they were passing over green farmland. They followed the Ramr River, and Shruikan finally came down to land on a solitary mountain that stood out from the plains all about. It was less of a mountain and more of a huge rocky outcrop jutting out of the earth, and the black dragon landed at its highest point almost delicately. There was a flat spot there, just large enough for him to stand on, surrounded by massive spires of stone like natural towers.

Galbatorix undid the leg-straps and helped Eluna down from Shruikan's back. Once they were both on the ground, Shruikan moved to the edge and jumped nimbly onto one of the spurs, where he perched like a gigantic bird, anchoring himself with his tail and digging his claws into the rock with a grating sound.

Galbatorix dusted himself down and gestured toward a flat-topped cairn of rocks that stood at the edge of the platform they were on. 'Shall we sit, my Lady?'

Eluna glanced at him and seated herself on the cairn, somewhat awkwardly. Galbatorix sat beside her and gestured at the view.

'Look,' he said. 'This is my Empire.'

Below them, still dimly lit by the last rays of the setting sun, the lands of Alagaësia looked small – and yet massive. Green plains and hills spread out toward the horizon in every direction, dotted with small villages and, here and there, a town. They could dimly see the dark line of the mountains of the Spine in one direction, Du Weldenvarden to the North, and the Hadarac to the West.

'From here, you can nearly see everything,' said Galbatorix. He pointed Northwards. 'In that direction is Gil'ead, and Du Weldenvarden beyond that, and the Icelands beyond those. Over there is Teirm, where I was born, and the sea. You can just see the pass through the mountains that leads there. Urû'baen is that way, and Dras-Leona is to the West. I come here sometimes, when I want to be alone. I can see all the lands I rule over, and it reminds me to think of more than just Urû'baen, or just myself.' He glanced at Eluna. 'So. What do you think, my Lady?'

There was real awe in the princess' eyes. 'It's beautiful,' she breathed. 'It's so _big!_ I never realised…'

'It's an easy thing to forget,' said Galbatorix. 'Humans see the world from the ground, and most of the time the ground where they are is all they can remember. But a rider sees things from above, and so does a ruler. We see the land from high places, and we remember that there is more than just the ground we stand on.'

'You are right, Sire,' said Eluna. 'I have thought it myself. Rulers always build their castles on hills and mountains, and they make towers so they can look down on the world. At home… in my father's palace, I used to go up to the highest tower to watch the sun set over our city.'

'I haven't visited Surda in a long time,' said Galbatorix. 'But I remember it quite well. It was a beautiful place. Drier than Alagaësia, but I thought it was somehow more… elegant. More subtle. And the great Sun Temple in Lithgow put the Cathedral of the Three Peaks in Dras-Leona to shame.'

Eluna smiled slightly. 'The sun is our protector and the giver of life. We put a great deal of our wealth into our temples and our priesthood.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'The Dras-Leonian priesthood is quite wealthy as well, thanks to me. I suppose many Surdans think Alagaësia is heathenistic, since we don't have a state religion. Most of my country's gods died a long time ago, thanks to the old riders. They suppressed religion, put believers to the sword and burned down their places of worship. I gave the people back their freedom to have gods, but most of the old beliefs were too far gone to come back. But I… I wouldn't call myself godless. Look.' He pointed toward the horizon. The sun had gone, and the stars had come out while they were talking. And now, very slowly, a glow was appearing from behind the distant mountains. 'My god is coming,' he said.

Eluna watched as the moon gradually appeared. It was a yellow crescent – the same one that was at that moment watching over Vander.

'You worship the moon?'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'The moon is my protector and guardian, whether I want it to be or not. It's the closest thing to a god I'll ever have. My inheritance.' He watched the great silver-yellow sickle as it rose, its light shining in his eyes. '_Bugeila arna, yn achlesu leuad, a arwain 'm_,' he added softly.

'What language is that, Sire?'

'The moon's language. An old language. Not many people know how to speak it any more.'

'May I ask what it meant, Sire?'

'I was asking the moon to watch over me and to guide me. I pray to it, sometimes, when I feel uncertain or alone.'

'Do you have a temple?' said Eluna.

Galbatorix smiled with his eyes. 'Someone once told me that the stars are the roof of the moon's temple. But no, there is no temple. No-one in the Empire really knows about it. I suppose you could say it's a secret.'

They were silent for a long time, as the moon rose higher. People would be looking for them, back at Urû'baen, but neither of them made a move.

Finally, Eluna said; 'Sire? May I… may I ask you a question?'

'Of course you may.'

Eluna regarded him carefully. 'Why did you bring me here, Sire?'

Galbatorix hesitated. Why _had_ he taken her away from the castle? Why had he brought her here, of all places? And why had he been speaking to her like this? Why should she even care about him and his problems?

'Because,' he said at last. 'Because this is where I come when I need to think. I don't know… I don't know what to do. And because I have to make a decision, and if I did it without consulting you… too many things have already been decided for you. I don't want to do the same. And so… I am going to be honest with you, Eluna. If you'll be honest with me.'

'I will, Sire.'

'Please. Just call me Galbatorix.'

'Galbatorix, then,' said Eluna. She was looking at him quite differently now; the fear and uncertainty were still there, but now she looked curious. Even sympathetic. As if she could sense the turmoil inside him. 'What is troubling you?' she asked softly.

'The truth is, Eluna,' said Galbatorix. 'I never actually agreed to marry you.'

She stared at him. 'I don't understand.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'I've been duped,' he said. 'Lord Vander… when he was last at Urû'baen, he tried to persuade me to ask for your hand in marriage. I refused. But he returned to Surda and lied to your father. He sent you here to be betrothed to me when I knew nothing about it. And now I don't know what to do. If I don't marry you, it will probably mean war with Surda. And if I do…'

'I am willing to become your Queen, Sire,' said Eluna.

Galbatorix laughed softly. 'No you aren't. Not really. You're willing to do it for duty's sake, but if it were your choice… how old are you, may I ask?'

'I am going to turn seventeen in a month, Sire,' said Eluna.

Galbatorix looked steadily at her. 'I am one hundred and eight years old.'

She started, staring wide-eyed at his face. 'But…'

'Riders are immortal. This isn't the first time we've met, Eluna. I visited your father when he first became King of Surda. I remember you quite well. You were only a few months old. And when I saw you that day, I looked exactly the same then as I do now. If you married me, you would age and die and I would stay the same. That is why riders don't usually marry. To us, nothing is forever.'

'How could Lord Vander have done this?' said Eluna. 'He lied to me! To you! And my father – if my father finds out, he'll demand for you to kill him or send him into exile.'

'Vander was misguided, but he meant well. He believes that I need a Queen, and he is obsessed with creating a powerful and lasting alliance with Surda. He was hoping to force me into it by doing what he did. He did what he did because he believed he knew better than me.'

'What are you going to do, Sire?'

'The right thing,' said Galbatorix. He looked her in the eye. 'Eluna… what do _you_ want? And tell me honestly. Tell me what it is you want.'

'I want…'

'Tell me,' Galbatorix said again. 'Please. Just tell me.'

'I want to go home,' Eluna whispered.

Galbatorix sighed. 'I understand.'

They were silent for a long time after that. The only sources of light were the moon and stars. Both of them could see Shruikan's huge shape to their left, moving restlessly from time to time, but they could no longer see each others' faces.

'You aren't how I expected you to be, Sire,' said Eluna. And now, at last, Galbatorix knew she was speaking truly, beyond the veil of formality. 'Lord Vander tried to prepare me, but…'

'And what did he say?' said Galbatorix.

'He said… he said "he will look frightening, but don't be fooled by what you see. He acts as if he doesn't care, and he can be ruthless and even cruel. But underneath that, if you can find it, he has the kindest and bravest heart of any man I have ever met".'

Galbatorix couldn't help it; he smiled – a warm, genuine smile that was completely invisible in the darkness. 'He really said that?'

'Yes, Sire.'

'He's a good man, Vander,' said Galbatorix. 'He was always the best talker out of all the Forsworn, and the best healer as well. He saved my life once, and plenty of others. He could heal nearly any wound.'

'I… liked him a lot, Sire,' said Eluna. 'I wish he had not done what he did. I don't want… you won't execute him, will you, Sire?'

'No. I couldn't bring myself to do that. Vander's my friend, no matter what he's done.'

Shruikan stirred in the darkness and sighed. The sound seemed to recall Galbatorix to his senses; he shook himself and said; 'It's late… we should probably go back now before people start to worry.'

Eluna sighed and stood up. 'Yes… we should. But… thankyou, Sire.'

Galbatorix stood, twining his fingers in his hair. 'I feel like a fool for bringing you out here. I'm sorry I troubled you with all this nonsense.'

'It's all right, Sire,' said Eluna. 'I understand. You were trying to explain yourself to me, and I'm grateful for that. You didn't have to do it, but you cared enough to try.'

'Well,' Galbatorix said gruffly. 'I felt I owed it to you. If we are going to be married, the least I can do is be honest with you.'

They flew back toward Urû'baen in silence, but Galbatorix could not help but notice how much more relaxed the princess was in his arms.

Shruikan landed on the dragon roost, and Galbatorix helped her out of the saddle. She stood by as he summoned up a magical light and removed Shruikan's tack. Once he had bid the dragon good night, the pair of them went back down the ladder and Galbatorix opened the door to his bedroom and put the saddle away in its chest. Eluna followed him, and stood uncertainly in the doorway, watching him.

'Please, sit down,' said Galbatorix.

Eluna didn't. Her hands were clasped together, and her eyes were on him – her look now calm, and cautiously fascinated. 'How did you get those scars on your back, Sire?' she asked softly. 'I saw them, before.'

Galbatorix unconsciously touched his shoulder. 'That happened before the war started,' he said. 'When I was just a boy. The old riders had killed my original dragon, Laela. After that they caught me and sent me to the dungeons. I was tortured there, before I escaped. I was nineteen years old.'

Eluna's expression darkened. 'Lord Vander told me he was tortured during the war, when he was held captive at Vroengard. He showed me his fingers and how they were crooked. He said they were crushed in a vice, one by one.'

'Yes… I never forgave myself for that. He wasn't the only one held at Vroengard. The Lady Tranah was as well. She was… raped by the guards, and had her legs broken. And Lord Morzan… if you ever meet him, you'll see the scar on his face. There are others. What they did to him nearly killed him.'

'I can't imagine what that must have been like,' said Eluna.

'Terrible,' said Galbatorix.

The princess stared at her feet for a moment. 'Sire… what are we going to do?' she asked at last, looking up. 'Are you going to tell my father the truth, or will we… will we be married?'

Galbatorix came to her and gently laid a hand on her arm. 'Eluna, I don't know. It would be the easiest choice, but would it be the right one? I would be a poor match for you. You're young. You deserve better than to be married to a hateful old man, even if he is a King. And besides…'

Eluna did not let him go on. She had pulled away from him as he spoke, and now she stepped forward and embraced him. She did so briefly, and shyly, and Galbatorix withdrew almost immediately. 'Eluna…'

Eluna smiled at him – the first smile he had seen her wear. She took hold of his shoulder and kissed him lightly on the lips. 'Good night, Sire,' she said, and quietly left the room.

Galbatorix watched her go, his heart pounding in shock. He could still feel the touch of her mouth against his, and it was shocking to him, like a spider bite. It was the first time he had been kissed since Kaelyn had tried to seduce him. It sent a dark, hot thrill through his body.

He touched his lips with his fingertips, his head spinning. And then, slowly and gently, almost imperceptibly, he smiled.


	13. A King's Word

Chapter Thirteen

A King's Word

Princess Eluna went to her temporary bedchamber with her head in a whirl. A servant showed her the way, and she followed him distractedly, not really noticing which way she was going, until they reached the door and found a pair of Surdan guards standing by it. They looked visibly relieved when they saw her.

'My Lady!' said one. 'There you are! Your uncle has been sick with worry.'

Eluna's heart sank. 'Where is he?'

'He is in his own chamber, my Lady. He commanded us to send for him the moment you returned.'

'Do so,' said Eluna. 'I will be in my chamber.'

'Yes, my Lady.' The guard opened the door for her, and she went in.

The chamber prepared for her was simple but elegant, with a large well-made bed with velvet covers and a roaring fire in the grate. There were a table and chairs, and cupboards, and tapestries with dragon designs on the walls.

Eluna's bags had long since been brought in, and her clothes packed away in the wardrobe. She found a clean gown and put it on, not wanting her uncle to see her in the plain and now rather grubby one she was wearing now, which had been torn on Shruikan's scales.

Once she was dressed, she sat down on the bed and tried to think.

She had come to Urû'baen terrified and miserable. In fact her misery and her desperation had been so deep that she had thought of running away or killing herself. Only fear and duty had held her back. She had thought she knew what to expect. Night after night she had lain awake, trying to imagine what she would find when she got to Urû'baen. The stories she had been told had made her imagine a grim black fortress, wet with rain. And its occupant… the Mad King. In her head he had been an old man – wizened with age, warped and twisted by the long years of an evil reign. In her head he was the Mad King.

But when her journey had finally ended, she had not found that man. She had found someone so radically different from the vision in her head that it had bewildered her, and frightened her as well.

In reality she had found, not an ancient lunatic, but someone else – someone who was in a way far more terrifying than the vision her imagination had supplied. The man she was about to be betrothed to was not old, but young – or, at least, he looked young – only a few years older than herself. And he was handsome, too, she realised. Not in the way of a Surdanese man, or any of the Alagaësians she had seen. His good looks were something else, something dark and cold, and distant, but, at the same time, magnetic. And he was not mad, either. Underneath the coldness she had seen at first he was just as Vander had described him to her, even though she had not believed it at the time. He was kind and warm, and vulnerable, and lonely, so lonely. It was something she had recognised in herself. He knew what it was like to be trapped and isolated, and he had had the courage to admit it to her, and to try reach out to her, even though he had no obligation to do so. He was not the Mad King. He was Galbatorix.

There was a knock on the door, and a few moments later it opened and Lord Owyn came in. He looked worried, but relaxed at the sight of her. 'Eluna! Thank the Great Light. I thought something had happened to you.'

'You shouldn't have worried, Uncle,' said Eluna. 'What could happen to me here?'

Owyn came to sit next to her on the bed, and embraced her lightly. 'Many things. We cannot be certain that the King is not planning something. He acted suspiciously at lunch. I do not trust him.'

Eluna smiled and returned the embrace. 'You worry too much. I was perfectly safe.'

'Where were you?'

'King Galbatorix took me for a flight on his dragon. He showed me the Empire from above, and told me about it.'

Owyn looked a little surprised. 'He did?'

'Yes. It was wonderful.'

'And you were safe?'

'Yes, Uncle. He asked me to trust him, and I did.'

'Well.' Lord Owyn scratched his moustache. 'It seems that the King is more of a gentleman than I realised. I am glad to hear he decided to spend some time with you. It was courteous of him. What did he say to you?'

'He told me about what it was like to rule here, and about his friends. And I told him about Surda. Uncle, I think…'

'Yes, Eluna? What is it?'

Eluna clasped her hands in her lap. 'I think… I think I could be happy here, Uncle. I think I could be happy with him.'

'You do?'

'He is a good man, Uncle,' Eluna said simply. 'I know it.'

Owyn embraced her again, more warmly this time. 'I'm glad for you, Eluna. I want you to be happy. And if you believe you could come to love your husband, then I believe you.'

'I do, Uncle,' said Eluna.

Owyn stood up. 'You should get some sleep. I will see you in the morning. Tomorrow we will find out why the betrothal has been delayed, and once it has gone ahead and you have settled in I shall go home.'

'Yes, Uncle. Goodnight.'

'Goodnight, Eluna.'

Eluna watched her uncle leave, and felt a strange joy and confusion in her heart. He was right. They had all been right. It was time to put the past behind her. She would become Queen of Alagaësia, and live out the rest of her life in Urû'baen by her husband's side.

She thought of him, while she put on her nightgown and prepared for bed. His narrow, angular face and glittering eyes kept coming back into her mind. She remembered the feeling of his thin body in her arms, and the touch of his lips against hers.

That night, she slept peacefully for the first time since leaving Surda.

Next morning, Eluna was woken up by a servant. 'You must dress quickly, my Lady. The King has requested your presence in the throne room as soon as you have eaten.'

Eluna rose and splashed her face, her stomach churning. This was it. She put on her best gown and decorated her hair with beads. Once she had done, she put on a thin gold circlet set with red and black stones, which offset her eyes and hair perfectly, and left her bedroom. She was shown to the dining hall, which looked very bare now that it had been stripped of its decorations. There she was joined by her uncle and the other Surdan nobles, but Galbatorix did not come, and nor did anyone else. They were served with bread and soup, fresh fruit and honeyed milk, and Eluna made herself eat plenty. She had not eaten enough during the journey, she knew, and she did not want to look ungrateful. She would need to be alert.

Her uncle was looking a little agitated. 'I would have expected the King to join us,' he muttered. 'Perhaps he is too busy. No doubt he has things to do.'

'We will find out later, Uncle,' was all Eluna said.

Once they had eaten, a servant came into the hall to check on them. 'Have you finishd your meal, my Lords and Ladies?'

'Yes, thankyou,' said Lord Owyn. 'May we see the King now?'

The servant nodded. 'He is waiting for you in the throne room, my Lord. I will show you the way.'

The party rose from its seats and followed him out of the dining hall. The servant halted at the door to the throne room. 'Forgive me,' he said. 'But the King has requested only to see Lord Owyn and the Princess. The rest of you must remain outside.'

Owyn glanced at his fellow nobles. 'Very well,' he said stiffly. He held out his arm toward Eluna, who took it, and the pair of them were shown into the throne room.

Galbatorix was there, alone, sitting on the throne with his hands resting on his knees. He was wearing his finest robe; the one trimmed with grey silk embroidered with spiral patterns, and the crown was on his head.

'Good morning, my Lord Owyn,' he said in a low, steady voice. 'And to you, Princess Eluna. I trust you slept well?'

'I did, Sire,' said Lord Owyn. 'My accomodation was most excellent.'

'I am glad to hear it, my Lord,' said Galbatorix. 'And I am sorry if this seems a little abrupt, but I did not see any point in delaying the matter any further.'

'I assume this is with regards to the betrothal, Sire?' Lord Owyn said politely.

'Yes. I have reached a decision.'

'That is excellent news, Sire,' said Lord Owyn. 'The Princess informs me that she greatly enjoyed your company last night.'

Galbatorix glanced at Eluna, but there was no hint of warmth or recognition in his eyes. He was being King now. 'I am glad to hear it, my Lady,' he said.

Eluna bowed her head to him. 'I am happy to see you again, Sire.'

'And I you, my Lady.'

Lord Owyn looked pleased. 'No doubt you will both have the time to spend many more such nights together, Sire. But tell me… what have you decided with regards to the betrothal? Shall it be carried out today, or perhaps tomorrow?'

Galbatorix breathed in deeply. 'The betrothal will not be taking place, my Lord,' he said.

Owyn froze. 'I beg your pardon, Sire?'

'I am calling off the marriage,' said Galbatorix. 'The Princess may return to her home country and find a more suitable husband.'

Eluna felt as if she had been stabbed in the chest. She stared at Galbatorix, utterly disbelieving, wanting to say something, but unable to.

Her uncle had gone white. 'This is not… how can this be? I do not understand, Sire.'

'It is simple enough, my Lord,' said Galbatorix. 'The Princess and I will not be married. I have decided.'

'But Sire – you agreed to it! We have documents with your signature on them, arranging the betrothal and for the Princess' passage to Alagaësia-,'

'Those documents were forged,' said Galbatorix. 'And they did not come from me. Lord Vander arranged this without my knowledge or consent. If you would like an explanation for his actions I suggest you ask him, because I think you are likely to see him before I do, my Lord.'

'Lord Vander-?'

'Yes. I had wished to avoid an embarrassment like this, but I was left without a choice in the matter.'

'I don't quite… this comes as a great shock to me, Sire,' said Lord Owyn, choosing his words with care. 'But I do not understand why… if you wished to avoid an embarrassment, Sire, you could have simply gone ahead with the marriage regardless. It would, after all, be a great advantage to both our countries. If I may, I would urge you to reconsider, Sire.'

'I have considered the matter, and at some length,' said Galbatorix. 'The decision is made. The Princess must go back to Surda. I will see that Lord Vander is punished for his actions, and will gladly agree to any trade negotiations which are favourable to your country, in return for your trouble.'

'But Sire-!' Owyn was desperate now.

Eluna could not keep silent any longer. She laid a hand on her uncle's arm. 'Please, Uncle-,'

'What is it, Eluna?' said Owyn, turning a little sharply toward her.

Eluna went to stand beside Galbatorix. 'Let me speak to the King alone,' she said, facing her uncle. 'Please.'

Owyn glanced at her, then at Galbatorix. The King of Alagaësia nodded curtly. 'I will speak to the Princess alone. Lord Owyn, if you could excuse us for a short time.'

Lord Owyn had no choice. 'As you wish, Sire,' he said. He left the throne room, casting a nervous glance back at Eluna.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Eluna hesitated, plucked up courage and took hold of Galbatorix's hand. 'Sire… Galbatorix… what are you doing?'

Galbatorix looked at their clasped hands, and then gently pulled his away. 'I am doing what you wanted me to do, my Lady,' he said. 'I am sending you home.'

'But… Sire… you said that what we want doesn't matter,' said Eluna. 'Duty comes first. Always.'

'Not always,' said Galbatorix. 'Only sometimes.' He reached up and took the crown from his head. Holding it between his hands, he sighed and said; 'I am doing what is right, by you and by me. Today, just this once, I am putting the needs of my Empire second. You do not want to marry me, and so I will not force you to. You are free.'

Eluna stared at the ground. 'I would have… I could grow to love you, Sire. I saw that last night.'

Galbatorix stood up. 'No, Eluna,' he said. 'I will not do this to you.'

'I thought…' Eluna looked him in the eye. 'I thought you cared for me.'

'I do. And that is why I will not marry you. I'm not worthy of you, Eluna. And even if we did marry, it would be a betrayal. For both of us.'

'I don't understand, Sire,' said Eluna. 'Who would we be betraying?'

'You already know that, Eluna. It is the reason why you cried all the way from Surda. It is the reason why you wished you were dead. The reason why you did not want to be near me. It was not just because you feared me. It was because you knew that marrying me would mean losing something precious. It would mean betraying yourself.'

'I don't-,'

'You are in love already,' Galbatorix said softly.

'Sire, I-,'

'Admit it to me, Eluna. Admit it to yourself. You were holding yourself back because of that. I know you were. I didn't see it at first, but I realised it later.'

Eluna stilled. 'How did you _know?'_

Galbatorix's smile toward her was sad and knowing. 'Because I too was in love once. I loved a woman with all my heart. I loved her so deeply that I promised her I would never let myself fall in love with anyone else, no matter how long I lived. But after that I lost her, and I never saw her again. But I would spend another hundred years alone for just a few more days with her, to hold her in my arms and feel her hands in my hair, and hear her voice in my ears. Life never gave me another chance. Don't let the same thing happen to you. Go back to this man you love and tell him what's in your heart. If your love is true, he will know it.'

'I… I can't.'

'Why not?'

'He spurned me,' said Eluna. 'I confessed my feelings, and he said…'

'What did he say, Eluna?'

'He said we could never be together. Fate was against us. He told me I must marry you, and forget about him. Our duty had to come before ourselves.'

When Galbatorix heard those words, quiet certainty settled into his heart. 'It's Vander, isn't it?' he said. 'Vander is the one you love.'

Eluna bowed her head. 'Yes, Sire.'

Galbatorix touched her shoulder. 'Then go, Eluna,' he said. 'Go to Feinster before you go back to Surda. Find Vander, and tell him… tell him that if he wishes to marry you, he may. I will grant my permission.'

'But, Sire, you… we can't. If I married him instead of you, my father would see it as an insult. He would think of it as a sign that you consider yourself too great to marry me, and that I am only worthy of a lesser noble.'

'Leave me to deal with that,' said Galbatorix. 'I will survive. Think of yourself now. And Vander. He doesn't deserve to be alone any more than you do. He lived a hard life. He deserves to be happy.'

Eluna looked at him, and he looked back, his eyes dark and deep, and understanding. In that moment they reminded her of Vander's eyes; warm and kind, but sad.

She embraced him tightly, taking him by surprise, and this time she did not let go. 'Thankyou, Sire,' she said, again and again. 'Thankyou. With all my heart.'

The decision was made. Lord Owyn argued long and passionately, but fruitlessly. Galbatorix's mind was made up. He refused to reconsider or to speak with Eluna's father before making the decision final, and the Surdans left Urû'baen that afternoon, refusing his offer to let them stay for as long as they wanted.

Lord Owyn's parting words were bitter ones. 'Trueborn royalty understands the meaning of honour and the keeping of promises, Sire. And a true King does not forget. If you would treat us as your vassals… be assured that my brother shall not soon forget it.'

Galbatorix remained calm and icy, and his only reply was; 'Maybe a true King does not forget quickly, but an immortal never forgets. Go back to your own land, Lord Owyn. Your brother and your people need you.'

He watched them depart from the castle wall; the long procession of men and horses passing out through the gates and back into the city, with Eluna's litter moving slowly along in their midst. The curtains on it had been pulled back, and he could see the princess watching him as she was carried away. He knew he would never see her again.

He knew, too, that there would be consequences. But he did not care. He knew in his heart that he had done what was right.

Once they had gone, and he was alone in the castle again, he returned to his room and sent a letter to Vander, commanding him to come to Urû'baen immediately.

That done, there was nothing left to do but wait. He didn't know what he would do when Vander arrived. He knew that it would be expected of him to punish the other rider; after all, treason, which was what Vander's actions amounted to, was a crime that normally warranted the death penalty. The very best he could do without breaking the law would be to banish him.

But, in the end, he knew the thing he really had to do. It would be the very same thing he had done with Morzan, the thing he had held off from doing for far too long.

'_When he arrives,'_ he told Shruikan. _'When I see him… I will ask him to forgive me. He has to forgive me before I forgive him. And after that… we'll know what to do.'_

Shruikan's normal fierce coldness softened. _'I am… proud of you, Galbatorix.'_

'_You are?'_ Galbatorix was surprised. _'But I just did what you advised me not to, didn't I?'_

'_Perhaps, but you did what was right. You have found your heart again. You are beginning to change back into who you used to be. Nothing you do can be wrong if it is toward that end. Nothing.'_

But Vander did not come that week, or the next, and nor did Galbatorix hear any word from him. He sent several more increasingly agitated messages to him, but no replies were sent. In the end he began to consider going to Feinster himself to find out what was going on. But he delayed, for some reason. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was another intuition, though he did not have any more ominous dreams.

And then, at last, nearly a month after Eluna's return to Surda, someone came to him with the news that there was another procession coming to the city.

Galbatorix's heart sank. 'Who are they? Are they from Surda?'

'No, Sire. It is Lord Vander. He is coming.'

'Vander…?'

'Yes, Sire.'

Galbatorix practically ran to the castle wall. From that vantage point, he could just see the dark column approaching Urû'baen from over the plains. There was something huge being carried with it.

No-one seemed to know what it was, and he had to wait in the castle for the procession to arrive – it would be unseemly for him to rush out to meet them, no matter how much he wanted to. He spent the next hour or so pacing back and forth in the throne room, too agitated to eat anything or even talk to Shruikan.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, someone came to get him. 'Lord Vander has arrived, Sire. He is in the entrance hall.'

Galbatorix didn't pause to ask any further questions. He rushed out of the room and sprinted away through the castle at full speed.

He reached the entrance hall, and stopped dead.

There were people there – three minor nobles from Feinster, and a few Surdans. They were standing in a silent cluster around something that had been laid on the floor. Galbatorix stepped forward, heart pounding, and they parted to let him through.

It was Vander. He was lying on a stretcher, arms folded on his chest, his lower body covered by a blanket. His pointed, intelligent face was still and serene, eyes closed. Galbatorix touched his shoulder. It was warm. 'Vander? Vander, can you hear me?'

'He will not wake, Sire,' said one of the Surdans. 'He has been like this for weeks.'

Galbatorix stood up. 'But why?'

'We believe he drugged himself, Sire. His dragon is in the same condition. He left orders for him to be brought here. And… we found this in his pocket.' The man held out a letter.

Galbatorix took it. It was neatly folded and bore Vander's personal seal.

He didn't open it immediately. 'Take him to the royal infirmary,' he said. 'I will send my best healers and herbalists to cure him. And take Ymazu to… no. They should not be separated. Take both of them to the dining hall. I will have the servants remove the table. Lay them out side-by-side.'

'Yes, Sire.'

Galbatorix ran ahead of them to the dining hall. Lacking the patience to wait for the table to be removed manually, he lifted it with magic and carried it out of the door, where he dumped it carelessly in the corridor, making sure it was well out of the way. He stood by as Vander was carried into the now-bare room and laid down on the floor. Ymazu too was brought in, though it took twenty strong men, and in the end Galbatorix had to assist them. The strain of lifting a dragon with magic was so great it made his nose start to bleed, but he dabbed at it with his sleeve and sent someone to find the best of the castle's healers. They came quickly, and as a few servants set up a temporary bed for Vander to lie on they talked to the people who had accompanied him, asking questions about his condition and how long he had been that way. Galbatorix hovered nearby, listening anxiously.

The healers examined Vander, checking his pulse, his eyes, his breathing and his muscle reflex. One of the Feinsterians gave them the empty bottle that had been found next to him, and a herbalist took it away to try and find out what had been in it. Galbatorix examined Ymazu himself. The dragon was limp and unresponsive, trapped in a sleep from which she would not wake. When he jabbed her in the ear, where it would hurt, she didn't respond. In the end, he sat back against her flank and began to probe at her mind.

He found it unguarded and entered without having to force his way in. Ymazu's mind was a haze of vague and unconnected images – she was dreaming, but not vividly, and when he tried to find the thinking part of her mind – the part that commanded her mental voice – he found it idling. It would not respond to him. Vander's was the same.

He got up and found one of the healers waiting for him. 'What have you found out?'

'Lord Vander is in a deep coma, Sire,' said the healer. 'I have never known one to have lasted this long. And…'

'Yes?'

'It appears that it was deliberately induced, Sire. We don't know what exactly was in the bottle that was brought in with him, but I had a look at it and it was definitely some kind of sleeping draught – and an extremely powerful one.'

'Will he wake?'

'I don't know, Sire, but if he has been unconscious this long… we will do our best.'

Galbatorix took the letter from his pocket. 'Maybe this will offer some clues. I will go and read it in private. Come and find me if anything happens.'

'Yes, Sire.'

Galbatorix returned to his room, moving slowly now, the letter clutched to his chest. Once he was there he sat down at the desk and opened it with a dagger. The neat, spidery handwriting was unmistakeably Vander's.

_My Lord Galbatorix,_

_I wish to apologise to you before I do anything else. What I have done is unforgiveably selfish, and I know it. As always, I have taken the coward's way out. However, my last hope is that my legacy will be a lasting and powerful one. I have done my utmost and given my all to remain loyal to you, Sire, and to serve you until my final breath. I know you will be angry with me for what I did. Many people will be, and I accept it. I sent Princess Eluna to you not just to realise my dream of uniting Surda and Alagaësia, but for your sake as well. Eluna is a sweet and wonderful woman, and I care for her as I do for you. With her by your side, you could have a chance at happiness. I know how lonely your life has been. With Eluna as your Queen, you could perhaps regain the joy in life you have lost. Duty is a harsh mistress, but we have all devoted our lives to her. But it is time for you to let the Empire look after itself and look to yourself again, if only briefly. You are not just a King. You are a man. And though my own hope is now gone, I believe that you deserve the chance to love again. I would have come to you myself and tried to find the friend in you as well as the master, but unfortunately I have run out of time. Do not trouble yourself over me. I thought that perhaps you would like to see my face again before the end. _

_I have measured out the ingredients perfectly, and now it is complete. I have made this potion many times before, to practise, and now it is ready. If my judgement is correct – and forgive me, Sire, but it usually is in these matters – I shall live long enough for you to see me alive. But I can promise you that there is no chance of waking me. The coma is irreversible, and after it death will find me. Ymazu shall die when I do. I would not condemn her to live with the pain of my death, as you lived with Laela's. _

_I will return to Urû'baen soon, and when we meet I hope you can forgive me. It has always been my honour to serve you._

_Vander Zynthad of Feinster_

The letter crumpled in Galbatorix's hand. He ran out of the room, nearly tripping over his robe in the doorway, almost fell down the stairs, and ran. But even as he ran, his heart told him it was already too late.

As he reached the door to the dining hall, he heard loud voices coming from inside it. He ran in and found the healers gathered around Vander and Ymazu, all talking at once in anxious voices. When he entered, one of them hurried to meet him. 'Sire, I'm so sorry-,'

Galbatorix didn't even look at her. He walked forward, moving slowly now, wide-eyed, the letter still clasped in one hand. He stood over Vander. Saw the tiny change that had come over him. That final settling of the face, the stillness of the body. For a moment he stood there, one hand slightly raised, and then he staggered backward as if someone had thumped him in the stomach. He hit the wall by the door and slid down it onto the floor, staring at nothing.

The healers gathered around him, asking anxiously if he was all right, but he didn't hear them. His eyes stared right through them, toward the place where Vander's body lay, until they quietly gave up and withdrew, leaving him alone.

Galbatorix didn't move for a long time. He had gone deathly pale. His hand, clutching Vander's last message, started to shake very slightly.

'What have I done?' he whispered. 'Oh gods… what have I done?'


	14. To Cry In Darkness

Chapter Fourteen

To Cry in Darkness

In the end, Galbatorix did not send for Morzan to come to Urû'baen for Vander's burial.

After the healers had pronounced him dead, he ordered them to prepare the body and then quietly disappeared. He retreated into his room and locked himself in. He did not emerge for the rest of that day, and it finally fell to Lord Walden to write to Morzan and ask him to come to Urû'baen.

Morzan left Gil'ead as soon as he received the message, but when he arrived a few days later he was met, not by Galbatorix, but by Lord Walden, who greeted him with; 'Lord Morzan. I am very glad to see you.'

Morzan straightened his tunic. 'Where's Galbatorix?'

Walden was looking anxious. 'The King is in his bedchamber, my Lord. I am sorry he could not be here to meet you.'

'Why didn't he come?' said Morzan.

Walden clasped his hands. 'We have… the King has not emerged from his bedchamber in over a week. He refuses to come out. The door is sealed with magic; we cannot force it open. We left food for him, but it hasn't been touched. Lord Morzan, I beg you… we are at our wit's end, and I fear for his safety.'

Morzan listened, horror-struck, and ran for the trap-door without another word. He jumped through it, heedless of the ladder, and landed with a loud thump at the bottom. There were a small group of people there, all looking very relieved to see him, including a servant with a tray of food.

'My Lord,' said one, bowing. 'Praise the gods that you are here. The King…'

Galbatorix's door was shut. Morzan knocked on it. 'Sire? Sire! Galbatorix! It's me, it's Morzan! Can you hear me?'

There was no reply.

'Please, Sire, let me in,' Morzan called. 'I'm here to help you.'

Silence. But, straining his ears, he thought he heard a faint scraping sound from the other side. He turned to the onlookers. They looked back hopelessly.

'It's no good, my Lord,' said Walden, who had made it down the ladder by this time. 'He will not answer.'

'Go away,' said Morzan.

'My Lord?'

Morzan took a step toward them. 'Go on, go away,' he said again. 'Leave me to deal with this.'

'Yes, my Lord,' said Walden. 'You heard him,' he added to the various servants still loitering around the top of the stairs. They took the hint and wandered off.

Morzan pointed at the one holding the tray of food. 'Leave that there and get going.'

The crowd dispersed. Lord Walden remained behind. 'I trust you to solve this, my Lord. I will leave you now.' Then he too left.

Morzan waited until they were all gone, and then turned back to the door, laying his hands on the solid wood. 'Galbatorix?' he said softly. 'It's Morzan. It's all right, I got rid of them. It's just me out here. Please, come out. We're worried about you.'

He waited, but still there was no reply. His heart started to flutter. Something was badly wrong.

He tried the door handle. It wouldn't turn, and the tingling in his fingers told him it was indeed sealed with magic. He held his hand over it, palm-forward. '_Hníga sjá dyrr_.'

Red magic glowed around his hand and then spread over the door. A few moments later it clicked softly and swung ajar.

Morzan pushed it open and entered.

The room beyond was in a shambles. The chair was overturned on the floor, and the desk was strewn with heaps of torn and crumpled paper. More of it littered the floor. A black fire was flickering gently in the middle of the room, – neither consuming fuel nor releasing any smoke. Pieces of charred paper were scattered around it.

Galbatorix was huddled in a corner, his arms wrapped around his knees and his head bowed.

Morzan stepped forward. 'Galbatorix?'

Galbatorix looked up, hollow-eyed. 'Vander's dead,' he said hoarsely.

Morzan went to him. 'I know, sir.' He crouched beside him, trying to look at his face. He was haggard and unshaven, and his hair, normally obsessively neat, was a tangled mess. And there was something pathetic about the way he was sitting – hunched down like a trapped animal watching the hunters close in. 'Gods, sir, what've you done to yourself?'

Galbatorix's hands clenched. 'Vander's dead, Morzan,' he said again. 'He killed himself. He died here, in the castle, when I was there. I couldn't do anything. I betrayed him.'

'No you didn't.'

'I betrayed him,' Galbatorix said again. 'I denied him his dying wish, I…'

Morzan took hold of his shoulder and firmly hauled him to his feet. 'Stop it, sir,' he said, dusting off Galbatorix's robe with his free hand. 'There's no sense in going to pieces like this. Here…' he led him to the desk, where he righted the fallen chair and sat him down on it. 'Just sit there a moment. I'll be back.'

He went outside and got the tray of food. When he brought it in, he found Galbatorix slumped with his elbows on the desk and his face buried in his hands. He glanced up when Morzan set the tray of food down, and grabbed a loaf of bread.

While he was eating it, Morzan leaned against the wall and looked around at the room. 'What's all this mess?'

'I've been trying to write something,' Galbatorix mumbled. 'It's not important. I've… I put a preserving spell on Vander's body. So you could see it before we buried it. Ymazu's been burned.'

'How did they die, sir?' said Morzan.

'Poison. Vander made it himself. He was alive when he came here. They both were. I thought I could save them. They died later. I wasn't there. I wasn't even _there_.' He shuddered softly, and repeated; 'I wasn't there.'

'But why did he do it?' said Morzan.

'It went wrong, Morzan. Everything's gone wrong. See… here.' Galbatorix groped inside his robe and brought out a piece of folded paper, which he handed to Morzan.

It was creased and stained, and torn around the edges, but Morzan recognised Vander's handwriting. He read the letter, squinting a little in the gloom.

'Surda?' he said aloud. '_Princess?_ What in the gods' names-?'

'She was here,' said Galbatorix, still staring at the desk. The half-eaten loaf of bread crumbled in his hand. 'She was here, right before Vander came. I had her here, with half the Surdan nobility. They believed I was going to marry her. Vander arranged it without telling me. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know…'

'What did you do, sir? You didn't marry her, did you?'

Galbatorix looked up at last. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. 'How could I? She didn't want me, and I didn't want her. She was in love with Vander. And he… he told her she had to marry me, for the good of her country. And she believed it. She came here broken-hearted, thinking she had to marry the Mad King, and I… I betrayed Vander. I sent her home. I told her to find him and tell him she loved him, I said I would let them marry if they wanted to. I didn't know what he had done. He believed in me. He gave up his chance to be with her, for my sake, and the Empire's. And I broke it. The Surdans have stopped contacting us. Their traders are going back home. Vander spent his life keeping peace between us and I threw it all away.' He covered his face with his hands. 'What am I going to do, Morzan? Gods, what am I going to do? I tried so hard to do what was right, but it all went wrong and now Vander's dead… why me, Morzan? Why me? Why do the gods hate me? I only wanted to make things right, but all I did was destroy everything, oh gods help me I wish I were dead…'

Morzan slapped him. His big hand connected with the back of Galbatorix's head with an audible _thump_, and when he looked up in shock Morzan followed it up with two more slaps, across the face.

'Stop it!' the big rider snarled. 'For gods' sakes, snap out of it!'

Galbatorix broke off, staring stupidly at him. He put a hand to his cheek. 'That hurt.'

'You needed it, sir,' said Morzan. 'Now look.' He took hold of his shoulder and looked him in the eye. 'I'm as upset about this as you are, sir, but this sort of thing isn't going to solve anything. You did what you thought was right and it turned on you. That's the way these things go. Everyone makes mistakes.'

'When other people make mistakes, it doesn't usually mean that thousands of people could die,' Galbatorix pointed out, though he sounded a little more in control of himself now.

'Even so. Now just pull yourself together and have something to eat. You look like you're half starved to death. Here.' Morzan took a small bottle of green liquid from his pocket. 'Drink this. It'll do you good.'

Galbatorix took it and pulled out the cork, but he sniffed it suspiciously first. 'It's not some kind of alcohol, is it?'

Morzan smiled slightly. 'No, though you could probably use some of that right now. It's some of Vander's strength potion. He gave me some last time we met. It'll give you some energy back.'

Galbatorix shuddered at the mention of Vander's name, but he drank the potion anyway. Sure enough it brought some colour back into his face almost immediately, and his posture in his seat became a little less hunched. He sighed and started to eat.

'That's the ticket,' said Morzan. 'Now… what're we going to do about Surda? You know, _I_ could marry this princess if it'd help. I've a mind to find myself a girl to hang onto for a few years.'

'No,' said Galbatorix, pausing to drink some water. 'It wouldn't work. Emeril would only see it as another insult.'

'Well, then, maybe you ought to go to Surda and talk to him yourself. And maybe…' Morzan hesitated. 'You know, you can still marry this princess. Emeril'd probably still say yes if you did enough to sweeten the deal.'

Galbatorix put down his cup and stared at it for a while. Then he sighed. 'Maybe I should,' he said. 'I… it's been a long time since I… Shruikan's been telling me it's time to move on.'

'You're talking about that woman again,' said Morzan. 'The one you made a promise to. Aren't you?'

'Yes. I waited so long for her to come back, I spurned so many other women, I even insulted the King of Surda to keep my promise, but… why?' his mouth took on a bitter twist. 'Why? What have I gained from it? She hasn't come back, and she isn't going to. I see that now. She's dead. She died years ago.'

'She wouldn't have wanted you to spend your life alone, sir,' Morzan said gently.

'I never stopped loving her, you know,' said Galbatorix. 'Never. I can still remember what her voice sounded like. How she used to… she was so fierce. Wild. Just like I was. The first time we kissed, I thought she was about to kill me. She knocked me over. Leapt at me, like a wolf pouncing. And then she kissed me. She saved me, you know. Saved my life. Back then… I was still insane. A little. Couldn't seem to keep myself together any more. I was sick and I had nightmares, and all the time I could feel the hole in my heart where Laela used to be. I still feel it sometimes, you know. The whole country was hunting for me, and I knew it. I knew that if they ever got their hands on me again, I would die. But she… she was a fugitive too. She was a victim, just like me, and when she told me her story I knew I was not alone. But out there, I tried to end it all.' He touched his neck, and Morzan could see the livid red and purple mark still just visible under his hair. 'That's the mark of the rope I tried to hang myself with. But she saved me. She found me hanging there, and she cut me down, and when I recovered I asked her why she had stopped me. And she said…' he smiled wistfully. 'She said "I don't want you to die". And just that… just knowing that someone cared whether I lived or died gave me back the will to live. I fell in love with her right there and then.'

Morzan listened. Galbatorix had never told him the full story of his long-absent beloved before. It was one of his deepest secrets – one he would never share with anyone else.

The loving sadness and regret faded from Galbatorix's face. 'But you're right, Morzan. Those days are gone. She's gone. Just like everyone else. Yes… I will go to Surda and talk with King Emeril. And if I can persuade him to allow it, I will marry the princess. For the sake of Vander's memory, and for our Empire.' He stood up. 'We should… we should bury him now. Just give me some time. I have to clean up this mess and…' he patted his hair, suddenly embarrassed. 'I have to tidy myself up. I've been so distracted that I… shall we meet in an hour, maybe?'

'Yes, sir,' said Morzan, hiding his relief. 'I'll be waiting by the door to the crypts.'

Galbatorix nodded and stood up. He walked toward the cupboard and opened it to choose a fresh robe, and Morzan paused to pick up the empty tray before he left. As he did so, one of the scraps of paper lying beside it caught his eye. He picked it up and scanned it quickly.

Galbatorix's normally neat handwriting was scrawling and disjointed. _I, King Galbatorix Taranisäii-Traeganni, Lord of the Riders, hereby abdicate the throne of Alagaësia in favour of-_

The rest was torn off.

Morzan hastily dropped the piece of paper and left, taking the tray with him.

'_How is he?'_ Idün asked.

'_He was in a terrible state,'_ said Morzan. _'I thought… gods, I wish I had been here with him when it happened. I haven't seen him lose it like this since gods know when. But how could I blame him for it? I mean…'_ he closed his eyes for a moment. _'Vander's dead. Gods, Idün, how did it come to this? What did we do to deserve this? Galbatorix can't take it. It's destroying him. And it's doing the same to me too. I know it.'_

'_There's still hope, Morzan,'_ Idün said softly. _'There's always hope.'_

Morzan stopped in mid-walk, startling the servant who had been trailing him. 'No,' he said aloud. 'Not now. Not any more.'

Galbatorix and Morzan were not the only witnesses to Vander's burial. The Surdans and Feinsterians who had brought him to Urû'baen had remained in the city, and when they learned that Galbatorix had finally emerged from his retreat they requested to come and pay their respects. Galbatorix agreed, and the little group stood in the cold stone corridor of the crypts and watched in silence as he recited the funeral rites and then sealed the tomb with Morzan's help, shutting Vander away from the world forever and leaving no sign behind but his likeness beside Ymazu's upon the wall.

Afterwards, when they stood in silence around the tomb, Galbatorix spoke up.

'I will not let Vander's legacy to the world be a sour one,' he said, addressing the unseen presence of his dead friend as much as the living people with him. He laid a hand on his chest. 'I will honour Vander's last wish. I will renew the Surdan alliance. I swear it on his tomb.'

'We will remember it, Sire,' said one of the Surdan nobles. He bowed low toward him, as did his fellows. 'Lord Vander had faith in you, Sire. And so do we.'

Galbatorix inclined his head. 'The needs of the people come first, and they must always do. I will do it for them, and for Vander. Now… let us return to the castle, and let the dead rest in peace.'

The nobles departed, Morzan with them. Before Galbatorix followed them, he paused and ran his fingers over the stone, where Vander's gently smiling face was cut. 'Forgive me, Vander,' he murmured. 'I was a fool not to trust your judgement. Your dream will be realised. I swear it.'

Once the burial rites were done and they had returned to the upper levels of the castle, Galbatorix dismissed the nobles and he and Morzan retreated to the dining hall and ate a frugal lunch together – at first in silence.

However, Galbatorix's melancholy mood didn't last. He had recovered from his bout of depression, and there was a combativeness about the way he spoke now.

'We'll leave for Surda in a few weeks. I should write to Emeril first, and ask his permission to come. If we arrived without any warning… well, it wouldn't look good. Are you all right to come with me, Morzan?'

'Yeah. But…'

'Yes? What is it?'

'There's something I have to tell you, sir,' said Morzan. 'I din't want to say anything before, but…'

Galbatorix's heart sank. 'What is it, Morzan?'

Morzan sighed. 'I thought maybe I oughta just keep it to myself. Leave you in peace for a while.'

'No. Tell me. I have to know what's going on in my Empire.'

'Something's happened in Gil'ead,' said Morzan. 'I was already going to come and see you before I got the letter about Vander, but…'

'Is it good or bad?'

'Bad. Sir… I really dunno what we can do about it. No-one seems to know what to do. I don't. Oh, it's not the elves,' he added, seeing Galbatorix's expression. 'No, we ain't heard anything from them in a while. And it's not the Varden either.'

'Well then what is it?'

'Plague,' Morzan said in a low voice.

'Oh no. What kind? Not the sneezing sickness again?'

'No. This is something else. No-one recognises it, but they're calling it Firepox. It's spreading everywhere. I first heard about it a week ago, and four days later half the city had it. I've had to set up hospitals for the poor sods, and I've got herbalists and doctors trying to do something for them, but…' he looked up, pale-faced. '…there's no cure. Everyone who catches it dies in a few days. I've closed down the city. No-one can leave or come in. If it gets out into the rest of the country… it could wipe us out.'

'Oh gods… where did it come from?'

'Don't know, sir, but I've put out the warning to the other cities. No word on whether it's spread anywhere else yet. I dunno what to do, sir. I mean, we've had plagues before, but nothing like this.'

Galbatorix stood up. 'I want to see this for myself.'

'Why?'

'Vander taught me a few things about medicine. I know a few dark elvish healing spells and potions. At the very least… I have to be seen there. People have to know that their King is prepared to do more than just sit in his castle and do nothing.'

'Well, all right,' Morzan sighed. 'Dunno what good it'll do, but I s'pose it might cheer people up a bit.'

'I have always prided myself on doing things personally,' said Galbatorix. 'You know that, right, Morzan?'

Morzan was silent for a few moments, and then grinned. 'Yeh, I'd say I agree with that. All right. We'll go to Gil'ead first an' see what we can do. But I'll warn you – it's not pretty.'

'I'm prepared for that,' Galbatorix said grimly.

Galbatorix was as good as his word. He packed a bag with spare clothes, spent a few hours catching up on the duties he'd neglected during his retreat, composed a letter of condolence to the city of Feinster and sent the nobles who'd brought Vander's body back home with a promise that he would soon visit and appoint a new governor. Once they had departed, and Lord Walden had been commanded to keep the city running during his absence, Galbatorix gathered his belongings, saddled Shruikan and left with Morzan.

When they arrived at Gil'ead they were greeted by Morzan's underlings, who quickly filled them in on the situation in the city.

It was not good. The plague had continued to spread, and the makeshift hospitals Morzan had set up were packed with suffering victims of the disease. Two hundred people had already died and were being hastily buried outside the city walls, and still others were being struck down all the time.

Galbatorix listened to all of this in grim silence. 'So there has been no word of a cure?'

'No, Sire. Many of the healers who went to attend to the sick have already fallen ill themselves. The rest are refusing to enter the hospitals again.'

'Has it spread outside the city?'

'Not that we know of, thank gods. But if a cure is not found soon, half the city will be wiped out.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I will go and see these hospitals for myself. Lord Morzan… you will come with me.'

The two of them paused to unpack and have something to eat before they left the castle. They went alone, taking their swords with them, and as soon as Galbatorix had left the relative calm of the castle, he saw that something was wrong.

The streets of Gil'ead, which would normally be bustling, were deathly silent and almost completely deserted. They saw a few people here and there, peering at them through doors or windows, but they hastily withdrew. Others hurried past, keeping their faces covered, and ducked into alleys or side-streets to avoid them. It was as if the whole city were dead.

And then, more horribly, as they neared the large warehouse that had been converted into a plague hospital, they saw the first signs of death.

There were people in the street, still lying where they had fallen, some hunched in doorways as if they had fallen asleep. Galbatorix stopped to examine one, and saw how his face was tinged with blue, eyes wide-open and bulging, mouth frozen in a final, desperate gasp for breath.

'Gods… do they all look like this?'

'Yes, sir,' said Morzan. 'From what I've been told, anyway. They suffocate.'

They reached the warehouse, and here, at last, they found some living people. There were guards posted around the building, their lower faces wrapped in pieces of cloth, and there were other people, clustered around the doors in a huddle and talking in low voices. They were the friends and relatives of the plague victims inside the hospital, waiting for news.

When they saw Galbatorix and Morzan coming, they stood up and came toward them.

'Sire! My Lord!'

Morzan tried to fend them off. 'Keep away from him, damn it! And you! Keep your hands off him!'

Galbatorix put a hand on his arm. 'Stop it.'

Morzan glanced at him. 'You can't let them near you, sir, they could have it too.'

Galbatorix pushed past him and walked toward the people. They gathered around him, reaching out to touch his robe, their voices loud and beseeching.

'Sire, please help us. You must do something, Sire.'

'My brother is in there; no-one will tell me if he's dead-,'

'Please, Sire, help us, please help-,'

'Use your magic, Sire. Heal them, please, Sire, Argetlam-,'

"Argetlam" was the old word for a rider. Galbatorix did not try and push them away from him. He let them touch him, and reached out to touch them back, the silver mark on his palm clearly visible to them all. They received his touch as if it were a blessing that could protect them from the disease, murmuring their thanks to him even as they pleaded for him to save them. Here and now, after so many long years, the mystical power of the riders had not been forgotten.

Eventually, however, Galbatorix said; 'Stand aside. I will go in and see them.'

They let him through, and he strode toward the closed door of the hospital, where a pair of guards hesitated and bowed to him. 'Sire,' one said. 'You must not go in there.'

'Get out of my way,' Galbatorix commanded. 'The people in there are my people, and I will not abandon them.'

'Yes, Sire.' The guards moved out of the way and opened the doors wide.

The moment the doors opened, a gust of air blew out toward them – hot, suffocating, foul-smelling air. Galbatorix had not smelt anything like it in his life. It was not just a smell of decay. There was a sickly sweet, vile stench mingled with it. If misery had a smell, then this was it.

As he stepped forward, Morzan caught up with him and grabbed his arm. 'Sire! For the love of gods, don't go in there!'

'Let me go, Morzan,' Galbatorix said calmly.

'You'll catch it,' Morzan insisted. 'You'll get it too.'

Galbatorix laughed a short, bitter laugh. 'Do you really think so?'

'_Yes_, Sire.'

'It's been eighty-five years, Morzan. Eighty-five years, and I've never been sick. Diseases don't affect me any more. I haven't had so much as a sore throat. I don't even get hangovers any more. Now let me go and help my people.'

Morzan let go of his arm. 'I'll… I'll wait here for you, sir.'

'All right.'

Galbatorix entered the hospital.

Inside, the smell closed over him almost instantly. And with it came sound.

There were people everywhere. They were laid out on the floor in rows, some covered by blankets, but others left with nothing but the bare earth of the floor. There was a narrow walkway between them, and one or two people were walking along it, bending to check each patient.

And Galbatorix could hear them. The air was full of coughing, mingled with groans and screams of pain. And below that was the one sound every victim there was making; a low, constant, wheezing and gurgling. They were struggling to breathe; slowly choking on the disease in their lungs. Dying.

One of the doctors came hurrying toward him. 'Who are you? You shouldn't be in here-! _Sire?_ Dear gods, I-,'

Galbatorix waved her into silence. 'How many more of them are there?'

'Hundreds, Sire,' the healer said softly. 'There are two other hospitals like this. This is one of the smaller ones. But you should not be here, Sire. The disease is contagious. Merely breathing in the air could infect you.'

'Is there anything that can help them?' said Galbatorix, ignoring her. 'Anything that helps?'

'We can put salve on the sores, Sire, and there are medicines that can ease their pain, but we cannot cure it. The result is always the same.'

Galbatorix held out his right hand, palm-up. 'Perhaps what you need here is some magic. _Ljós!'_

Light appeared around his hand, shining onto his face and making it glow before it brightened; spreading out to touch the hospital and its occupants. It was black light; dark light, that made everything it shone on look grey and white. The healers stopped in their tracks, their faces turning toward him to look. He could see their pale skin and their wide eyes, seeming to glow in the gloom. Even the victims on the floor looked at him, and he could see the fear on their faces – and, beyond that, the hope.

He strode along the row for a short distance, and found a strong-looking man lying on his back. He crouched beside him to examine him.

The man's shirt was torn open, and there, exposed on his chest, were sores – big, open, swollen sores, weeping blood and pus. The man lay still, his arms by his sides, mouth wide open as he gasped for breath. But his eyes turned toward Galbatorix and focused on him, and he saw him mouthing desperately, trying to speak.

Galbatorix touched the side of his neck. He could feel the man's rapid, erratic heartbeat. 'Be still,' he said softly. 'I'm here to help you.'

The man grabbed his hand. '…don't… touch… Sire,' he rasped; his voice was low and harsh, as if he were being strangled.

Galbatorix extricated his hand as gently as he could. 'It's all right. Breathe deeply. I will cure you.' He spread his hand over the man's chest, palm-downward. '_Flytja sási sóttarfar!_'

Black magic covered the man's chest, spreading into the sores, which bled more profusely. Galbatorix kept his hand still, letting the magic flow on, his face rigid with concentration.

The man did not move for a while, but then he suddenly convulsed and cried out. Blood and pus oozed out of the sores and trickled down over the healthy skin around them, and the man's hands twitched and convulsed as he cried out again, the sound strangled and distorted by the mucus in his throat. Still, Galbatorix did not stop the spell. He poured more magic into the man, determined not to give in, to make it work and save his life.

But as the man continued to twitch and scream, and the sores did not fade, Galbatorix suddenly withdrew his hand and let the magic fade. The man fell back, shuddering, his face beaded with sweat.

Galbatorix gritted his teeth and opened his hand again. '_Feddyginiaetha hon anhwyl!'_

The words were dark elvish, and so was the spell. Galbatorix unleashed his magic once more, and this time, to his joy, he saw the sores begin to close; the flesh and skin knitting itself back together and leaving pale scars behind.

He glanced at the man's face. His eyes had closed.

Galbatorix let the flow of magic stop, and touched the side of the man's neck, checking for a pulse.

There wasn't one.

'No!'

The man did not respond. Galbatorix pounded his chest. 'No, damn it! Wake up!'

It did no good. The man was dead. Galbatorix straightened up, staggering a little at the lightness in his head. But he was not done yet. He moved on to another of the sick.

With this one he tried the dark elvish spell straight away, making the magic keep flowing well after the sores had closed.

But it had the same result. The victim died while the spell was still being cast. So did the next. With the fourth he used a simple purging spell to clean the sores, and then closed them with another. After that he tried a spell to treat the wheezing in the lungs. It did not work, and his only reward was another silent corpse.

In the end he settled for moving from patient to patient, healing their sores and feeding each one a little energy to strengthen them.

But there were dozens of them filling the hospital, some only recently infected, others on the verge of death. He worked on doggedly for two hours, casting spell after spell, ignoring his fatigue. By the end he was pale and exhausted, his robe stained with blood and pus, eyes starting to glaze over. The healers finally had to take hold of his arms and gently lead him out of the hospital, and he went with them, staggering slightly. He stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame, gasping for breath.

Morzan was still outside, waiting for him, and he came to meet him. 'Sire-,'

Galbatorix straightened up and walked toward him. 'I'm all right. I'm all…' he faltered suddenly, and toppled forward. Morzan caught him and held him up.

'It's all right, Sire, I've got you. C'mon, let's go.'

The big rider walked away from the hospital, and Galbatorix stumbled along beside him, leaning on his arm. 'I did my best,' he mumbled. 'I did what I could. I'm a good… a good King. I am. A good ruler, a…'

'That's right, sir,' Morzan said gently, putting an arm around his narrow shoulders to hold him up. 'You're a good ruler. The best this country's ever had.'

He got Galbatorix back to the castle, where eager hands helped to hold him up and take him to his room, where they stripped off his robe and took it away to be burned, while others filled a bath with hot water for him. Once he had cleaned the blood and muck off his skin he allowed himself to be put to bed, where he slept like one dead.


	15. Firepox

Chapter Fifteen

Firepox

Galbatorix had recovered by the next day. He and Morzan ate breakfast together, and after that Galbatorix insisted on returning to the hospital to see if his efforts had helped.

The healers were ready for him, and let him in without a word. This time, Morzan went in with him.

Galbatorix walked slowly along the row, pausing to examine each of the people he had treated. Morzan saw him crouch by one of them and open her shirt to examine the sores.

'How's she doing?'

Galbatorix stood up. 'They've reopened,' he said in a dull, faraway voice. 'They're back. They're as bad as they were yesterday.'

'Oh shit…' Morzan mumbled.

Galbatorix moved on to the next one, and the next. None of them had improved, and three of them had died during the night.

'I'm sorry, Sire,' said one of the healers. 'The sores stayed closed for a few hours, but their breathing did not recover. There was nothing you could have done.'

Galbatorix stood in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the people suffering around him, his hands clenched into fists.

Morzan touched him on the shoulder. 'It's not your fault, sir.'

Galbatorix didn't answer. He stood there for a few moments longer, and then abruptly turned on his heel and strode out of the hospital. Morzan hurried after him, and caught up with him in the street.

'Come on,' Galbatorix said shortly. 'We're going to the library to see if the books have anything to say about this.'

'Right, sir.'

They returned to the castle and Morzan showed the way to its library; a large room lined with shelves.

'There's some books on medicine and what have you over here,' he said, going to one shelf and beginning to lift down some books from it. 'Dunno if they'll help, but…'

Galbatorix joined him, and the pair of them took out every single book on healing and healing magic they could find and stacked them on the library's study table. Once they had amassed the library's entire collection, they settled down and began to open them.

They spent the next few hours in the library, poring over tomes of herbs and medicines, and accounts of plagues gone by. They wrote down anything that looked promising, both aware of how little time they had. Every moment they spent in the library, more people were dying.

That afternoon, once they had exhausted everything the library had to offer, Galbatorix insisted on visiting the second of the three plague hospitals. At the door, he said; 'I'll go in and try the new spells we found. Something has to work. You stay here.'

'Sir-,'

'No. Stay here. If anything happened to you…' Galbatorix broke off. 'I'll be back in an hour.'

Morzan waited dutifully outside, feeling useless and unwanted. In the end, "an hour" became three. But Morzan did not leave. He sat down on a doorstep, ignoring the people around him, and waited.

Galbatorix finally emerged, looking if anything even more tired and begrimed than last time. But there was a gleam in his eyes. 'I think we could be in luck,' he said. 'One of those spells seemed to be doing some good.'

'But can we cast it on everyone, sir?' said Morzan.

'As many as we can,' said Galbatorix. 'A life is a life.'

'Fair enough, sir,' said Morzan, but he was not quite able to look as optimistic as Galbatorix did.

He went to bed exhausted that night, and slept so deeply he didn't dream. He felt a little better by breakfast time the next day, but Galbatorix looked as if he hadn't slept at all.

He sat hunched over the table, chewing listlessly at a bowl of porrige, his eyes darkened.

'You look terrible, sir,' Morzan said with his usual honesty. 'Didn't you sleep at all?'

Galbatorix looked up. 'A little,' he mumbled. 'Couldn't seem to get comfortable. You?'

Morzan shrugged. 'Maybe we ought to take it easy today.'

'Eat up,' Galbatorix said briefly. 'We have to go and see how those people are doing.'

Morzan reached for an apple. 'All right, sir.'

They made their way back to the hospital together, and when they arrived they found one of the healers waiting for them outside.

'Sire,' she said, coming forward and holding out a hand.

'How is it in there?' Galbatorix asked. 'Have any of them recovered?'

The healer's face was pale. 'Sire… nearly all of them have died. The other healers who were working in there with me have both been struck down.'

Galbatorix stopped dead. 'No,' he said.

'I am sorry, Sire. Please don't go in there. There is nothing more you can do.'

'Out of my way,' Galbatorix snarled. He shoved her aside and kicked the doors open as if expecting to find an enemy on the other side, and in spite of the healer's protests he vanished into the darkness and the moans of the dying.

He did not re-emerge.

After a time Morzan dared to venture forward and peer into the sickly-smelling gloom. Far away, at the end of the open space, he could just see the faint glow of magic. Pointlessly and stubbornly, and in the face of what was surely the inevitable, Galbatorix was still trying to heal them.

Morzan stood there, watching that little glow shine out of the darkness, and suddenly found himself on the verge of tears. He turned away and leaned against the wall of the hospital, resting his face on his arm.

The one remaining healer came to him. 'Are you all right, my Lord?'

Morzan glanced at her. 'Fine,' he said gruffly. 'But the King…' he gestured helplessly at the darkness that had swallowed Galbatorix.

'He will not give in, my Lord,' said the healer. 'His courage is astonishing.'

'Not to me it ain't,' said Morzan. 'He's always been like this.'

'I fear his magic will not be enough,' the healer muttered, forgetting protocol for a moment.

Morzan was too distracted to notice. 'It won't,' he said. 'But he'll keep trying anyway.'

Galbatorix did not reappear. Hours dragged by, and still he remained in the hospital, detectable only by the glow of his magic and, occasionally, the faint sound of his voice reciting spell after spell. And then, around noon, it stopped.

Morzan stood in the doorway, watching and listening intently, but he could not see Galbatorix any more. Nor could he hear his voice.

In the end he couldn't stand it any longer. He threw caution to the winds and strode into the hospital, shuddering when the full force of the smell hit him. 'Galbatorix? Galbatorix? Where the hell are you?'

There was no reply. Morzan summoned up a magical light, and found him. He had collapsed in the middle of the floor, close to one of the people he had been trying to heal. When Morzan crouched beside him and turned him over, he found him ashen-faced and limp, his heartbeat faint and weak.

'You damned idiot,' Morzan muttered. He lifted him off the floor without much effort, and slung him over one shoulder.

When he emerged into the light with him, everyone there rushed to his side.

'My Lord!' the healer exclaimed. 'Let me examine him-,'

'Cut it out,' said Morzan, fending her off. 'He's fine. He's used too much magic. All he needs is rest. I'm taking him back to the castle. You-,' he pointed at the nearby guards, who snapped to attention. 'Seal this godsforsaken building up. There's no point in anyone going in there again. Once those poor sods are dead, burn it down. You heard me. The others too. We can't let the sickness get out of the city, got that?'

'Yes, my Lord.'

Morzan left without another word, carrying Galbatorix on his shoulder. He weighed surprisingly little.

At the castle, Morzan handed Galbatorix over to the servants and told them to undress him and put him to bed. 'And don't disturb him, you hear?' he added. 'He needs sleep.'

And sleep was what Galbatorix did. He stayed unconscious for the rest of the day and into the night. Morzan checked on him several times, and by the time the moon had risen outside the colour had come back into his face. He would be all right.

In the morning, Morzan brought him some soup and found him awake, but weak and depressed.

'Here, sir. Eat.'

Galbatorix sat up in bed and accepted the food. 'I feel horrible,' he croaked.

'You look pretty horrible, sir,' said Morzan.

Galbatorix managed a smile. 'Thanks.' He ate the soup in silence, and then cleaned the bowl with a piece of bread. 'We've failed,' he said softly, looking into the empty bowl.

'It wasn't your fault, sir,' said Morzan. 'The disease is just too much for us. We did what we could. Well, you did, anyway…'

'Doing what you can is fine,' said Galbatorix. 'But when it's useless, it's useless.'

Morzan shrugged. 'But you still did it anyway. If it's any comfort, no-one's blaming you. What you did made all the difference, in a way. Everyone saw you go in there when people were begging you not to, and they saw you exhaust yourself trying to help. They know you care, sir.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'We have to get back to Urû'baen. There's a bigger library there. I've got copies of every book on magic in the country. One of them has to have some clue in it. And we have to sort out the Surdan business, before it's too late. There's just so much to do…'

'Yes, sir,' said Morzan. 'And don't worry; we'll sort it out. We've come through bad times before all right, haven't we?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Yes… I suppose so.'

'It'll blow over,' Morzan went on. 'These things always do. Some people're getting better on their own.'

'But not enough of them,' said Galbatorix. He'd already seen some of the few lucky survivors – "lucky" was a relative word; nearly all of them still suffered from laboured and extremely painful breathing. And none of them had recovered because of anything he'd done. 'We'll find something,' he said. 'We're going to beat this, Morzan. One way or another. Could you take this away? I have to get dressed.'

'You want to take it easy for a while, sir,' said Morzan, taking the bowl. 'You practically put yourself in a coma yesterday.'

But Galbatorix was already getting out of bed and reaching for a comb. 'I'll be fine. And I haven't got time to lie around.'

Morzan shrugged. 'See you later, then.'

Galbatorix was up, bathed, dressed and packed by lunchtime, but when he and Morzan met to eat before they left, Morzan saw that he was still looking pale and tired. But he ate plenty and was lively enough. 'We'll go back to Urû'baen and trawl through the library. I'll make an official proclaimation – offer a reward to anyone who can find a cure. And then I'll write to Emeril.' He was sagging slightly in his chair as he spoke.

'Are you _sure_ you're all right, sir?' said Morzan.

'Just tired,' Galbatorix said briefly, straightening up again. 'Hurry up.'

They ate hastily and then finished their preparations to leave. Once they had dealt with a few last-minute matters, they saddled up the dragons and left – with a promise that they would be back within two weeks.

Morzan kept a close eye on Galbatorix during the journey. Evidently his futile efforts over the last few days had exhausted him more than he was admitting; he barely spoke, ate little and slept late. He even took to dozing in the saddle while they were flying, though he was embarrassed when Morzan brought it up. In a way, Morzan was glad to see him getting plenty of rest. He had a bad habit of ignoring his own wellbeing and continuing to try and be up and about when he should be resting, and this wasn't the first time he'd run himself into the ground and then tried to keep on going regardless. He had no patience for weakness – either his own or anyone else's.

When they finally landed on the dragon roost at Urû'baen, Morzan helped Galbatorix out of the saddle, over his protests.

'There,' he said afterwards. 'No need to be embarrassed, sir. You're still weak. Don't worry about taking Shruikan's saddle off; I'll deal with it myself. You just go indoors and get some sleep, all right?'

Galbatorix leaned on Shruikan's flank. 'I'm fine,' he said.

'No you're not,' said Morzan. 'You wiped yourself out back at Gil'ead, and you've got to take some time to get better, all right?'

Galbatorix sighed and rubbed his forehead. 'I suppose you're right. I don't know what's come over me. I just don't seem to have any energy any more. I-,' he yawned.

'Of course you don't have any energy; you used it all up trying to help those poor bastards,' said Morzan. 'C'mon, let's go.' He took hold of Galbatorix's shoulder and gently steered him toward the trapdoor. He opened it, and Galbatorix wearily climbed down the ladder and unlocked his bedroom door with magic. Morzan joined him a few moments later and handed him his bag. 'There you go. Now just you get some sleep. I'll deal with things while you're resting, all right? And I'll come and check on you later.'

Galbatorix stifled another yawn. 'All right. I'll see you later, then…' he turned and retreated into his room, closing the door behind him.

Morzan sighed and went back up onto the dragon roost to unsaddle Idün and Shruikan and collect his own bags.

Galbatorix heard him leave. He dumped his bag on the floor and hung White Violence on the wall again, glad to be relieved of it. The sword felt a lot heavier now. His hammock swung invitingly in the breeze, and he started toward it without thinking. But he paused and turned back, remembering that he hadn't locked the door. He spread his hand over the handle and mumbled the sealing spell.

His magic took longer than usual to respond, and once it had gone to work he found he needed to concentrate harder. The spell seemed to take forever to complete, and as it gently drained the energy out of him he suddenly started to feel dizzy. The door finally sealed, and he stared at his hand. 'What's wrong with me?' he said aloud.

There was a dull pain in his chest. He prodded at it, but couldn't find anything unusual. He must have bashed into something and forgotten about it.

He yawned again. He had slept for most of the last push to Urû'baen, but he still felt exhausted. The room seemed to be spinning around him, and his vision was blurry with fatigue.

He stumbled over to his hammock and sat down in it. He had meant to take off his robe and boots, but the instant he put his weight onto the hammock he fell back into the natural hollow his body had occupied for so many nights and couldn't summon up the energy to get up again. To hell with it. He pulled a blanket over himself and promptly fell asleep.

Dreams visited him in his sleep. Strange, confused dreams.

He felt damp and hot all over; his hair was sticking to his face and his robe clung to his skin. He wanted to push the blanket off himself, but he couldn't – he lay still, not sure if he was asleep or awake. His skin prickled unpleasantly, as if from insect bites, and a strange clicking, chattering sound lingered in his ragged ears. He stirred a little, frowning in his sleep, one hand twitching in an unconscious effort to swat the sound away.

And then the dreams came. He was lying in his hammock… or, at least, he could _feel_ that he was lying in his hammock, but he couldn't see it, or the room around him. He saw vague grey shapes rushing toward him, faster and faster, but they never reached him, though he shied away from them, his heart pounding. Water ran down over his arms and chest and onto the floor in torrents; he could hear it dripping and trickling – agonisingly loud, but not loud enough to wake him up.

He wanted to call out for someone to help him, but his voice wouldn't work… or would it? He thought he could hear himself speaking, but his mouth wasn't moving. And someone replied, but he couldn't understand them; they were asking him questions, but he didn't know how to answer them, and there were things lying around he was supposed to pick up, but his hands wouldn't move. And then he was standing up somewhere, and he was running. He could feel his feet hitting the ground, but nothing around him moved. Then the ground suddenly broke away from beneath him, and he was falling. The wind rushed around him, howling in his ears, and he could hear the distorted sounds of laughter and voices around him as he fell, faster and faster. Terror gripped him, closing in on him like a giant hand; hot, smothering, overwhelming terror. His throat closed up and he couldn't speak, tears leaked from his eyes and were whipped away in the wind, and as he fell it began to tear at him; ripping away his hair and clothes, and then his skin too, until the rest of him broke apart too and was carried away into the shadows. Voices were screaming at him; high and screeching. They were killing him; he was falling toward them and they would have him, and then, at last, he hit the ground with a thud that made the blackness shake, and realised he was back in his hammock. He could feel himself shaking violently, all over, and then the darkness closed over his eyes.

He woke up slowly, and the first thing he felt when he did so was pain. His head was aching savagely, as if someone were striking it with a hammer, over and over again. He groaned and tried to sit up, but he was still disoriented, and the hammock twisted sideways and unceremoniously dumped him onto the floor. He lay on his side there for a time before he managed to roll over onto his front. He pressed his forehead against the cold stone floor, and sighed in relief.

'_Galbatorix, are you all right?'_ said Shruikan.

The sound of the black dragon's voice recalled him to his senses. He gathered his arms beneath him and levered himself upright. When he regained his feet he staggered and fell backward over the hammock, hitting the ground with a painful thump.

'_Galbatorix?'_ Shruikan said again. _'What are you doing to yourself?'_

Galbatorix groaned. _'I feel terrible.'_

'_You don't feel very good,'_ said Shruikan. _'What's happened?'_

'_I had… horrible nightmares. All night. And now I can't seem to stand up properly…'_ he pulled himself together and breathed in deeply. _'All right. I'll give it another try…'_

This time he managed to stay upright. He dusted himself down and rubbed his sore back. _'All right. I'm okay now. The dreams must have confused me for a while there. How long have I been asleep?'_

'_Hours. It's dawn now.'_

Galbatorix muttered a swear-word and walked unsteadily toward the cupboard. A simple robe would do for today. He chose one at random and put it aside while he stripped off the other one. It was grubby and stale with old sweat, and he wrinkled his nose and tossed it onto the floor. After going through all those robes in Gil'ead, he was going to have to ask the tailor to make some more.

His chest itched. As he picked up the new robe and draped it over his arm, he paused for a moment to scratch it.

Instantly, a horrible, sharp pain stabbed into him. He cried out, as much from surprise as from the pain itself, and clapped a hand over the spot. 'Argh! Godsdammit, what in the hell-?'

The pain did not subside for several moments. He prodded cautiously at the offending patch of skin, which made the pain flare up again. There was a mark there. More of a scab than a mark, actually. It was about the size of his fingernail, and the skin around it was red and swollen. He touched it, thoroughly bewildered.

'_What is it?'_ said Shruikan.

Galbatorix sent him a picture of it. _'It looks a bit like an insect bite, but… nothing like any insect bite I've ever seen.'_

Shruikan shared a feeling of puzzlement. _'How long has it been there?'_

'_I don't know. I only just noticed it. It itches like mad, but it hurts when I touch it. Oh well. I'll have to get some salve from the infirmary.'_ He pulled on the new robe and a fresh pair of trousers, and left the room to find Morzan.

Morzan wasn't up yet, so he went to the dining hall and had an early breakfast on his own. He was ravenously hungry, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to eat much. The food felt rough and scratchy in his throat, as if he were trying to eat pieces of wood. He was extremely thirsty too, and kept sending the servant back for more water.

Once he had given up on breakfast, he went to the library to begin work. There were plenty of books about diseases and the curing of them there, and plenty of books on magic too, though not as many as he wished. The contents of Ilirea's great library had been looted or burned during the fall of the city, and thousands of irreplaceable volumes had been lost as a result. Unfortunately Galbatorix had been unable to prevent that sort of thing from happening, and plenty of the lore and learning of the riders of old was now gone forever. He wondered briefly whether the cure for Firepox had been among it. The savage irony of that possiblity struck him as particularly fitting, and he snarled to himself and began to leaf through the books.

The first few proved unhelpful, and he put them aside and moved on to the next one, which had the promising title of _Plagues and Pestilence: A Comprehensive Record._

The book was a depressingly thick one. He struggled just to open the cover – his fingers felt damp and clumsy.

Also, his chest itched. He scratched it, and cringed as the pain hit him again. There were two more itchy spots now – one on his shoulder, and one on his stomach, and they too hurt when he scratched them. There was a strange feeling inside his chest, too. Not particularly painful or unpleasant. Just as if there were something heavy in there. He shrugged it off and started to read.

The _Comprehensive Record_ lived up to its name. Page after page was filled with meticulous handwriting, describing various virulent diseases in close and unpleasant detail. He recognised some of them. Black Pox. The Sneezing Sickness. The Leona Pestilence – that one had been spread by contaminated water. Fisherman's Ague – not actually a disease, as it had turned out, but poisoning from bad fish. The Shaking Sickness. White Blindness. Each one deadly and contagious, and many still incurable. The only way to survive those was to be naturally immune, or to become infected and somehow recover.

Galbatorix scratched at his chest again and turned a page.

_Burning Lungs Disease. _

_Also known as Dragonpox. This disease is thought to have originated in Du Weldenvarden, among the elves. The cause and cure are unknown, but the disease is ten times as virulent to humans and typically kills its victims within the space of three days to a week. Dragonpox affects both the lungs and the skin. The first signs of infection are extreme weakness and fatigue, followed by disturbed sleep and fever-dreams. After this the first sores will begin to appear on the chest, stomach and arms. They will first resemble scabs or insect-bites, and will itch, but cause pain if touched. The sores will grow and spread with alarming speed; accounts say that they can go from scab to open wound in less than seven hours. The sores will swell and crust, and then begin to weep a foul-smelling yellow pus. Any movement is likely to make them break and begin to bleed; if this happens, any attempt to staunch them is likely to be futile. During this time the victim will be clear-headed and, unfortunately, possibly unaware that they have been struck down. At the point when the sores begin to weep they become extremely contagious; the slightest contact with another person is likely to infect them as well. _

_The sores will be the only sign for the first few days, but during this time the victim will grow progressively weaker; they will lose their appetite and may exhibit symptoms such as vomiting, fainting and disorientation. After this phase the victim will begin to experience difficulty with breathing and will begin to feel pain in their lungs. The pain will increase steadily as the final stage of the disease begins, until the victim is left unable to breathe or speak without pain. They will begin to exhibit the final and most obvious signs of illness, with a persistent, dry cough and constant wheeze. Shortly after this they will become immobilised, suffer from violent fever and convulsions and eventually slip into a coma. Depending on the strength of the victim, the coma may last a few hours or up to two days before death occurs._

Galbatorix read the page with a horrible feeling of apprehension in his stomach. This was it all right. Dragonpox. It wasn't a new disease after all. And Gil'ead was right next to Du Weldenvarden.

He sighed and scratched his chest again. This time the pain did not subside quickly.

That was when he first began to feel frightened.

He pulled open his robe to examine the scab again, and ice trickled into his chest. The scab had grown bigger. Now it was as big as the last joint of his thumb. The skin around it was an angry red colour, and starting to swell, and the scab itself was red-brown and crusted, the centre a vile shade of yellow. He felt it carefully, gritting his teeth when the pain flared up in response. But the scab still itched. He started to scratch at it, more and more desperately, sweat beading on his forehead. And then the scab split open.

Pain went ripping into him, so severe it made him jerk backward in his seat. And before it had even begun to fade away, he saw it. Saw the tear in the middle of the scab. Saw the little spurt of yellow pus that trickled down over the red and swelling skin. And from it came a smell – a sweet, sickly, decaying smell.

The book dropped out of Galbatorix's hands. _'No!' _He held the gedwëy ignaesia over his chest. 'Waíse heill!'

The sore closed over, but the pus remained behind on the skin. He pulled his robe open further, exposing his chest and stomach.

There were more scabs there. Just a few, innocently standing out against his skin. But they itched.

He snatched up the book and dumped it on the library table, flicking through the pages until he found the one he had read earlier. He scanned it again desperately. Sure enough, there were the words he had hoped against all the odds would not be there. _Extreme weakness… fatigue… disturbed sleep… scabs… sores… pus… extremely contagious…_

His hands, resting on the book's open pages, started to tremble. _No cure._

Galbatorix closed his eyes. 'Oh gods. Please gods no. No!'

But the words remained there, staring blankly at him from the yellowed pages, and on his chest the sores itched and burned.

He picked up the other books and began to look through them as fast as he could, searching for any mention of Dragonpox. There were none. He flicked through book after book and then tossed them aside, one by one, until there were none left and he ran to the shelf and began to pull books out and drop them on the floor, looking for anything and everything that mentioned medicine or plague.

But his strength failed him. He collapsed into the chair, gasping for breath, feeling the sweat soaking into his robe. In his head, the word reverberated. _Contagious. _

He pulled himself upright. He had to get away, had to lock himself in his room, before-

There was a knock on the door.

Galbatorix started. _'Morzan!'_ he hissed.

'Sir? It's me. Sorry I'm late-,'

The door opened even as Galbatorix hurried to hold it shut, and Morzan walked in. He was looking a little tired, but alert. 'Morning, sir. How'd you sleep? Good gods, what's all this mess?'

'Fine,' Galbatorix rasped.

'Feeling any better?'

Galbatorix turned and stumbled back toward the table. 'I'm fine,' he said again. 'I'm feeling much better.'

'That's good,' said Morzan. 'Any luck with the books so far? Looks like you nearly tipped that shelf over.'

'I've found…' Galbatorix picked up _Plagues and Pestilence_ and threw it onto the chair.

Morzan went to pick it up. Galbatorix backed away, panicking. What if the book itself was infected? 'No! Don't touch it. I mean… I've already read it. There's nothing in there.'

Morzan stopped with his hand halfway toward it. 'Are you all right, sir?'

'It's Dragonpox,' said Galbatorix, forcing himself not to scratch at the sores. 'I found something about it. It comes from Du Weldenvarden. No cure.'

'Is that all it said?'

'Yes. Nothing in any of the other books. It just listed the symptoms. Sores… fever… pain in the lungs, and then death. There's no… no cure.'

'Well, we'll find one,' said Morzan. 'If it comes from Du Weldenvarden, maybe there's something there that can fix it.'

'Maybe. Listen, Morzan, I…' Galbatorix paused. 'I want you to leave.'

Morzan blinked. 'What? The library?'

'No. I want you to leave the city.'

'Why?'

'I have…' Galbatorix thought quickly. 'I have something I want you to do for me. Away from the city.'

'What is it, sir?'

'The Spine,' Galbatorix blurted. 'There's something in…' his mind raced. 'Carvahall. Yes. That's it. Carvahall. There's a village up North, right up against the Spine. In the Palencar valley. I want you to go there, Morzan.'

'But why? What for?'

'I went there once. Before the war. There's a cave hidden in the Spine, an hour's walk from the village. I want you to find it, Morzan.'

'Why?'

Galbatorix's eyes were cold and empty, but burning with a furious energy. 'Because I am your King, and I am ordering you to do it,' he said. 'Find that cave, Morzan. And when you get there… destroy it.'

'But _why?'_ Morzan said again. He was coming toward him, his face concerned. 'You're not making any sense, sir. We've got things to do here. Why d'you want me to go looking for caves?'

'Are you questioning me, Morzan?' Galbatorix said sharply, backing away.

Morzan stopped. 'No. I'm just curious, that's all.'

'Well stop being curious,' Galbatorix snapped. He was saying whatever came into his head now, trying to stop Morzan coming any closer. 'I have made a decision. Go to Carvahall. And once you have found the cave and destroyed it… go back to Gil'ead.'

Morzan stood still amongst the fallen books, his expression hurt and bewildered. 'I don't understand. What about Surda? What about the plague?'

'They don't matter now,' said Galbatorix. 'What matters is that I want you to leave Urû'baen. And this time… don't come back.'

'But why?' said Morzan. 'What's _wrong?_ What have I done?'

'You failed me in Gil'ead, Morzan,' Galbatorix said coldly. He was glaring at the other rider now, glaring at him with real hatred. 'You stood by and did nothing while the people were suffering. You let me go in there alone. I had eleven great followers once. They were brave and noble. They were leaders. You are not, and you never were. The gods hate me. They took away the best of the riders I led, and left me with nothing but… _you.'_

Morzan gaped at him. 'But – but I – I don't – it's not – Galbatorix, I-,'

'I have no further use for you,' Galbatorix said in an awful, flat voice, as if he were talking to an object. 'Get out of my city, and never come back.'

'But I'm your _friend!'_

'I have no friends.' Galbatorix pointed at the door. 'Get out, Morzan. I never want to see you again.'

Morzan did not move. He had gone pale, his eyes wide. But he did not leave. He came on toward Galbatorix, reaching out to him. 'Sir… Galbatorix… what's wrong? Why are you saying this? You're…' he stopped. 'You're shaking. You're-,'

Galbatorix hit him. The blow had almost no strength in it, but Morzan jerked backward, crying out in shock. He looked up, his cheek glowing red, and simply stared at him, unable to speak.

Galbatorix pointed at the door. _'Go.'_

'But sir-!'

'Go!' Galbatorix roared. 'Go on, get out of here, or I will have you banished!'

At last, Morzan turned and walked back toward the door. He stopped, one hand on the handle, and looked back at Galbatorix. For a moment it looked as if he were trying to say something, but then he turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Galbatorix stood still, staring at the spot where Morzan had been, and then he doubled up suddenly, his face contorting. He righted himself, staggered to the window, threw it open and was violently sick.


	16. Carvahall

Chapter Sixteen

Carvahall

Idün, standing on the dragon roost beside Shruikan, noticed that the black dragon was looking distressed. He was crouching low to the stone, his shoulders hunched – almost _huddling._

Idün dared to nose at his shoulder. _'Shruikan? What's wrong?'_

Shruikan looked up at her, and the normal ferocity in his golden eyes was gone. _'Something's wrong,'_ he said. _'Something's wrong…'_

Idün tensed. _'What is it, Shruikan? Is it Galbatorix?'_

'_He won't talk to me,'_ said Shruikan. His wing twitched suddenly. _'He's in pain. He's…'_

The trapdoor opened, and Morzan emerged. He was dragging Idün's saddle with him.

Idün went to him. _'Morzan?'_

Morzan said nothing. He started to strap her saddle on, moving too quickly and fumbling with the straps. She realised that he was shaking.

'_Morzan? Morzan, what's wrong? What's happened?'_

Morzan managed to get the saddle on, and secured his bags into place at the nape of Idün's neck. Zar'roc was in its sheath on his back, and he was wearing his travelling clothes. He climbed onto the saddle and started to strap himself in. _'We're leaving,'_ he said at last.

'_Where are we going?'_ said Idün.

'_Carvahall. Some place called Carvahall.'_

'_Why? Haven't you got work to do here? I thought-,'_

'_There's been a change of plan,'_ Morzan said harshly. _'Get going.'_

Idün paused to touch her snout to Shruikan's forehead before she took off. Shruikan watched her go with a terrible, almost folorn look on his fierce, scarred face.

As Idün flew away from Urû'baen, she could sense the turmoil in Morzan. He was partly blocking her, preventing her from understanding what had upset him, and she hesitated to ask immediately.

'_Which way is it to this place?'_ she ventured.

Morzan shifted in the saddle. _'North.'_

Idün turned Northwards. _'How far?'_

'_I don't know. It's in Palencar Valley. With the Spine behind it.'_

'_All right,'_ said Idün. _'We can ask for directions at Yazuac or Therinsford.'_

They flew on in silence for a time, and Idün felt sick with worry.

At last, unable to bear it any longer, she said; _'Morzan, what happened? Why are we going to this place? And why so suddenly?'_

Morzan's mind radiated sullen and bewildered anger. _'Because the King ordered us to.'_

'_But why? What did he say?'_

'_We have to go to Carvahall,'_ Morzan repeated. _'We have to… find a cave there. In the Spine. We have to destroy it.'_

'_What?'_ said Idün, bewildered. _'Destroy it? What for?'_

'_How should I know?'_ Morzan snapped. _'Because the King said so, all right?'_

'_Morzan,'_ said Idün. _'There's no reason to talk to me like that. Stop it.'_

Morzan shuddered. _'I'm sorry, Idün. I just… I just… I don't…'_ he started to sob softly, his big hands clutching at Idün's scales. _'I don't know what happened, Idün, I don't know anything, I don't…'_

'_Calm down,'_ said Idün. She let her presence fill his mind, comforting him with a feeling of deep love. It was a mental embrace, and it soothed him a little. _'Morzan, please… just tell me what happened.'_

'_He doesn't – he wouldn't – he hates me. He sent me away. He said he never wanted to see me again. He said I was worthless, he said…'_

'_What?'_ Idün shared a feeling of confusion and dismay.

'_I failed,'_ Morzan sobbed. _'I've failed. I couldn't help him. He hates me. I'm useless! Gods, Idün, why did it have to be me? Why did the others have to die instead of me? I wish I was dead, I wish…'_

'_NO!'_ the force of the mental shout was enough to make Morzan jerk in the saddle. Idün's flight was erratic for a moment before she righted herself. _'Morzan, no,'_ she said again. _'Stop it. For the gods' sakes, stop it. This isn't real. This can't be real. What did he say to you?'_

Morzan slumped against her neck, ignoring the spines digging into him. _'He said… he said to leave Urû'baen and never come back. He said I was the weakest out of us all, and he had no further use for me. He said the gods hate him because they let the others die and left him with just me. He said go to Carvahall and then go back to Gil'ead and stay there. He said he never wanted to see me again. And then he said if I didn't leave he would banish me.'_

Idün faltered. _'But – but – why?'_

Morzan's eyes closed. _'I failed him. I failed him in Gil'ead.'_

'_It wasn't your fault, Morzan. What could you have done? He couldn't do anything for them, so how could you have?'_

'_But he tried. He tried, didn't he? He nearly killed himself trying to help. And I did nothing. I just stood there and did nothing and let him go in there on his own, I…'_

'_He's just angry because he feels helpless,'_ said Idün. _'That's all. Next week he'll write to you and say he's sorry, you'll see.'_

'_No,'_ said Morzan. _'He doesn't act like that, Idün. He never has. He doesn't lose his temper over something like that. And he doesn't apologise.'_

'_Well then we'll make him,'_ Idün said fiercely. _'If he doesn't apologise, then we'll go to him and force him to tell us what's going on.'_

'_We won't,'_ said Morzan. _'I know we won't. We're never gonna see him again, Idün.'_

'_Why not?'_

'_Because he doesn't want us to.'_

After Morzan had left, Galbatorix began to act – quickly and feverishly, hampered by his weakness. He gathered up the books he had touched and threw them into the fire, one by one, along with the cushions from the seat he had used. The fire started to smoulder beneath it all, but he took a risk and fed it some of his energy. It worked; the fire roared upward into the chimney and incinerated everything in the grate. But the spell was almost more than he could handle; the room started to spin around him, and he had to support himself on a bookshelf until he had regained a little strength. Once his head cleared he suddenly let go of the shelf and started to wipe at the spot he had touched with a corner of his robe, trying to clean off the touch of the disease.

His movements faltered and he looked around feverishly at the library. Everything looked dirty and tainted all of a sudden, even the very air. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. Everything he touched would become dangerous, every place he visited would be contaminated by his very presence, everything…

He almost ran out of the library, using the sleeve of his robe to stop himself from touching the doorhandle, and sealed the door behind him with magic. By the time the spell wore off, maybe the disease in the room would have died away.

Weakened and staggering now, he began to head back toward his room, doing everything he could to avoid running into anyone. It felt like the longest journey he had ever made in his life. His body didn't want to obey him any more. His vision was grey around the edges, and he could feel his heart fluttering in his chest. The disease was already taking a hold of him.

He saw people in his way as he stumbled on, saw them looking at him with concern, saw them reaching toward him. He waved a desperate hand at them. 'Stay away!' he commanded, and his voice was strong and harsh, betraying no sign of the fear eating away at his stomach. 'Get out of my way. Now!'

They obeyed, scurrying ahead of him until they could find places to tuck themselves away. He saw their frightened eyes turning to watch him go. Some part of him was embarrassed, perhaps, but he barely noticed. All he could think about now was the need to get to his room, get away, get to safety. He could vaguely hear Shruikan's voice in his head, calling his name, but he didn't answer. Nor did he have the strength to shut him out.

The stairs to his room felt like a mountain. He climbed up them, one at a time, moving agonisingly slowly. In the end he had to stop and rest after each step, slumped where he stood with his back to the wall, mouth open to gasp for air.

When he finally reached the last few steps, a horrible thought occurred to him – what if Morzan was still there? What if he hadn't left? What if he was there, waiting for him?

But when he got to the top at last, and the little space that housed his door and the ladder to the roost, he found it deserted. He collided with his bedroom door, too unsteady on his legs now to stop himself in time, and grabbed the handle to support himself. It turned under his hand, and when the door swung inward he fell through it and onto the floor.

He lay there for several minutes, unable to move, but managed to summon up the strength to drag himself into the room beyond and kick the door shut behind him. He flipped himself onto his back and held a shaking hand out toward the door.

'_L-lœsa… sjá… hurđ._'

The magic came, but he knew almost straight away that it had been a mistake. The instant it struck the door and went to work, pain shot through him. The sores on his chest burned and throbbed, as if they were being touched with red-hot irons, his head felt as if it were splitting open, and all his joints and muscles twitched. He moaned aloud and slumped back onto the stone, but his hand stayed raised. When at last he heard the soft click that meant the spell was complete, he let it fall. He tried for a few brief moments to get up, but then fell back again, unable to move.

'_Galbatorix? Galbatorix? For gods' sakes, answer me! What's happening to you?'_

He could hear a strange scratching and thumping sound coming from above him. Dust fell from the ceiling and onto his face, sticking to the sweat. Shruikan was trying to get in. With a supreme effort, he reached out with his mind. _'Shruikan…'_

'_Galbatorix? Galbatorix, what's wrong with you? What are you doing?'_

Galbatorix did not open his eyes. He felt as if a great weight were pinning him to the floor. _'Shruikan,'_ he said, his mental voice whispering. _'Shruikan…'_

'_Answer me! Please, answer me!'_

'_Plague,'_ Galbatorix said at last. _'I've got… the plague…'_

'_NO!'_

'_I'm… sorry. Shruikan… sorry…'_

Shruikan's mind became still. _'How long?'_ he said sharply.

'_A few… a few days. Shruikan, where's… Morzan? Where's-?'_

'_He's gone, Galbatorix. He and Idün left.'_

Galbatorix stilled. _'Good. Good…'_

'_Why did they leave?'_

'_I sent… sent them. Couldn't… Morzan would have… caught it. He can't… can't die. We need him. We need…'_

'_Galbatorix,'_ said Shruikan. _'Please. Come up here. I want to see you. I want you with me.'_

Galbatorix did not reply. He tried to for a few moments, but the journey back to his room, and the magic he had used beforehand, had robbed him of the little strength he had left. For a brief time he tried valiantly to get up, but his hands kept sliding out from under him. He let his head fall back once more, and a few moments later he had slipped into an endless dark dream.

Galbatorix did not regain consciousness for a long time. He lay on the floor where he had collapsed for much of the rest of the day, waking occasionally but only for a few minutes at a time. Several times people came to his door and knocked on it, calling his name from the other side, but he did not answer them and eventually they went away.

When evening came and the sun was beginning to set, he woke up feeling a little better. Strong enough, at least, to get up off the floor.

He sat up, feeling stiff and sore, but his head was clear and his limbs were steady, and he wondered if perhaps he was better. He almost tore his robe open, fumbling with the fastenings in his haste to see what was underneath, but as soon as he saw the skin on his torso his heart sank. The sores were still there. Worse, they had grown. The original one, on the right side of his chest, had reopened and nearly doubled in size. Others peppered his stomach, shoulders and arms – some still small scabs and others raw, open wounds, stinking of plague.

'_Galbatorix? Are you all right now?'_

Galbatorix closed his eyes. _'No, Shruikan. The sores are… getting worse.'_

'_Please,'_ said Shruikan. _'Come up here. I have to see you.'_

Galbatorix managed to stand up. _'No. Not now. I have things to do.'_

'_Galbatorix-!'_

'_I'm sorry. They can't wait.'_

He stumbled over to the desk and sat down. There were plenty of spare pieces of parchment there, along with writing materials. He chose a piece at random, dipped a quill in ink, and began to write.

_I, King Galbatorix Taranisäii-Traeganni, Lord of the Riders and annointed ruler of Alagaësia, hereby appoint Morzan Drasborn, Governor of the City of Gil'ead, as my chosen heir and successor to the throne. Upon the event of my death, all my power and property must pass to him immediately, and the responsibility to find and train new riders will fall to him. His own successor shall be of his choosing, but he himself shall have no choice. The Kingship must be his and no others. This is by the decree of King Galbatorix Taranisäii-Traeganni, signed and sealed on the Day of the Ninth Hatching in the eighty-fifth year of the Alagaësian Empire._

Once he had done, he signed it with his titles and sealed it with his personal emblem before he carefully put it aside and slid another piece of parchment into place beneath his quill.

_Morzan,_

_I am sorry for-_

The quill snapped in his fingers. Galbatorix dropped it and slammed his face onto the desk. He covered his head with his hands and began to sob weakly. 'Oh gods… oh gods…'

'_Galbatorix!'_ there was real desperation in Shruikan's voice now. _'Please, for gods' sakes, get out of there!'_

Galbatorix lurched upright and made for the door. Reversing the sealing spell took him nearly five minutes, and he had to lean against the wall and rest before he could open the door and leave his room – though he peered through the gap to make sure there was no-one on the other side first.

There wasn't. But someone had left a tray of food for him, along with a stack of papers. He carried them inside and put them on the desk. Shruikan was still calling to him, but he couldn't help himself; he sat down again and began to eat, forcing himself to swallow each mouthful. His jaws ached just from chewing, and the taste of the food made his stomach churn, but he persisted until he had eaten as much of it as he could take, and it gave him a little strength. He picked up a fresh quill and a piece of paper, and wrote another proclamation – this one offering a reward of a hundred gold pieces to anyone who could find a cure for Dragonpox, also known as Firepox or Burning Lungs Disease. He wrote on for much of that day, putting his affairs in order as best he could – writing letters to various people with his last orders for them, and outlining suggestions and courses of action to help Morzan along once the throne had passed to him. He worked as fast as he could, scribbling feverishly and barely noticing when he left blots of ink on the paper. He didn't know how long it would be before the disease had completely overwhelmed him. By this time tomorrow he could be too weak to sit upright. By the day after that, he could be too feverish to even speak.

He completed the stack of official writings bit by bit, stopping every now and then to rest. The sores didn't itch any more, but he could feel them. They throbbed and prickled, and every time he moved, pain spiked through them. He winced and wrote on, doing his best to ignore them.

There was a knock on the door. Galbatorix froze.

'Sire?'

Galbatorix breathed in deeply. 'Yes? What is it?'

'I have brought you some lunch, Sire,' said the voice. 'And also… I have been asked to enquire whether you are all right.'

'I'm fine,' Galbatorix called back. 'But I'm going to be very busy over the next few days, and I do not want to be disturbed. Is that understood?'

'Yes, Sire. I will pass it on. Shall I leave the tray here?'

'Yes. No-one is to come up here for any other reason, is that clear?'

'Yes, Sire. I will leave you now.'

He heard the faint scrape of a tray being set down, and soft footsteps retreated.

Galbatorix realised he had been holding his breath. He sighed it out again, and got up. The motion made his vision fade to black for a moment, but he leaned against the desk until he had recovered and then made for the door. He retrieved the tray of food from the other side and took it into his room, but he couldn't face the prospect of trying to eat it straight away and instead resumed his writing.

'_Galbatorix, please…'_ Shruikan was pleading with him now. _'Please, come to me. I have to see you.'_

'_I'm coming, Shruikan,'_ said Galbatorix. _'Soon. I have to finish this. I have to do it now, before I run out of time. I have to make sure the Empire is protected after I… go. I will come as soon as it's done.'_

'_Work quickly,'_ said Shruikan.

'_I will, I will…'_ Galbatorix wrote on frantically. So much to do, so much to think of… he felt strong enough now. His head was clear. But his hands were weak and clumsy, and he felt drowsy and listless. All he wanted to do was go back to his hammock and sleep, but he knew he couldn't. Sleep would not cure him. When he woke up he would be worse.

Finally, the last document was complete. He pushed it aside and promptly fell asleep at his desk.

When he woke up some time later, his head was aching worse than ever. He levered himself away from the desk and slumped back in his chair; his back had stiffened horribly from the awkward position he had fallen asleep in, and the original sore, on his chest, was extremely painful. The edge of the desk had been digging into it. When he peeled his robe away from it, it stung so horribly that he nearly screamed. He gritted his teeth and pulled the damp fabric away.

The sore had swollen to the size of an apple, and what had once been merely scabbed was now raw and open; a great hole in his skin, its inside yellow with decay, stinking of disease and leaking pus and thin, diseased blood. The other sores had also grown, and more were beginning to form. His entire torso was ravaged by them.

Galbatorix groaned softly. His throat hurt; it felt rough and scratchy, as if he had been shouting for hours. He coughed. His throat immediately started to itch, and he coughed again, and then again; deep, hacking coughs that made his shoulders shake and his head jerk forward. And with each cough, pain crackled through his ribcage.

He forced himself to stop, clutching at his throat as if trying to smother it, his breathing low and laboured.

'_Galbatorix, are you all right?'_

Galbatorix breathed in deeply. _'It's starting.'_

He picked up the pen again and grabbed a piece of paper. He didn't want to stay in his room now. He wanted to get out, get to the open air and be with Shruikan, but he knew he couldn't. Not now. Not yet.

Slowly and wearily, he picked up his quill once again and dipped it into the ink. He put the tip to the paper, and began to write.

_Morzan,_

_I am sorry for what I said. I can never really express how much. I don't expect you to forgive me, but I am begging you to understand why. _

_I am a liar. I lied to protect you. Your loyalty to me as a friend would have killed you if I had not sent you away. What I said was…_

He stopped writing. The tip of the quill dug into the paper, splattering it with ink, but Galbatorix did not notice. He closed his eyes, his face twisting with anguish. The memory of what he had said to Morzan rose up in his mind. _I have no friends. I never want to see you again._

He could still see the terrible hurt and bewilderment in Morzan's face. He could still see his shock when he had hit him.

He remembered Shruikan's words to him, on the day after Tranah's burial. _You had three friends here this morning, Galbatorix. And you let them leave. _And Tuomas. Poor Tuomas, who had died knowing that his oldest surviving friend had betrayed him. _I miss a man I once knew. He was my friend. But now I don't know where he is. _

Galbatorix's eyes shone, and two large, weeping tears ran down his nose and dropped onto the paper, where the ink ran, making tiny black rivers trickle down over the words he had scrawled, blurring and destroying them.

'Morzan,' he whispered. 'Forgive me.'

'_Galbatorix,'_ Shruikan was still calling to him. _'Come. Now.'_

Galbatorix stood up jerkily, not noticing when he knocked the pot of ink onto the floor. It shattered, and a black stain spread over the stones.

He went to the door and fumbled with the handle. It turned eventually, and he stepped out and into the space at the top of the stairs, pushing the door shut behind him. The ladder leading up to the dragon roost looked impossibly tall. But he could still hear Shruikan calling to him, and he took hold of the rungs and began to heave himself up.

It seemed to take an hour. He had to stop and rest several times, and more than once his hands lost their grip and he nearly fell. But he kept on doggedly, ignoring the sweat making his skin grimy and slippery, until he finally reached the top and could go no further.

And then, to his dull despair, he found that he couldn't lift the trapdoor. He tried; bracing himself against the wall and pushing with both hands, but the wood was thick and heavy, and it would not move. He clung onto the ladder and rested his head on the wall, breathing harshly. _'I'm sorry, Shruikan. I can't… I can't open the door. It's too heavy.'_

There was a brief silence, and then a deafening _thump_, and the trapdoor shuddered violently. Galbatorix nearly fell off the ladder in his shock; one hand lost its grip, and he had to wedge his other elbow behind one of the rungs to catch himself. The worn soles of his boots slid out from under him, and for a few heart-stopping seconds he was dangling by one arm, scrabbling desperately for a fresh hold.

There was another _thump_, and the trapdoor shattered into pieces. Even as his arm started to slip out from behind the rung, Shruikan's huge forepaw lunged down through the gap where the trapdoor had been. The talons hooked themselves into the back of Galbatorix's robe, and Shruikan hauled him out bodily into the open air and dumped him on the roost.

Galbatorix lay on his back, quivering slightly, and the next moment Shruikan had scooped him up in his front paws and was holding him against his great chest, almost cradling him. _'Galbatorix. Oh gods, Galbatorix…'_

Galbatorix managed to reach up and touch the dragon's snout. _'I… Shruikan…'_

Shruikan sniffed at him, his breath ruffling his hair. _'You smell sick.'_

Galbatorix lay still for a moment, and then pulled his robe open, exposing the sores.

Shruikan peered at them. _'Are you sure it's the plague?'_ he asked hopefully.

'_Yes. Gods, I'm so stupid… I went into those hospitals and touched all those sick people, I thought I was invincible. I couldn't help them. I failed. They'll all die. And now, so will I.'_

'_I don't understand,'_ said Shruikan. _'How can this have happened? Why isn't the magic protecting you? You've never been sick before.'_

'_I don't know, Shruikan. But the sickness… it came from the elves. The elves have powerful magic, but the sickness kills them too. Magic isn't enough. That's why mine couldn't cure those people in Gil'ead. I should have seen it.'_

Shruikan spread his wing over Galbatorix, sheltering him. _'How long will it take?'_ he asked softly. _'Will it… will it hurt us?'_

'_Three days. Maybe a week. The sores are only the beginning.'_ Galbatorix started to cough again, and Shruikan shuddered at the pain of it. _'The coughing will get worse. In a day or so I won't be able to speak. By the end I'll be feverish. I could start hallucinating, and have nightmares and delusions. By the end… oh gods…'_ he suddenly broke off and started to laugh. He laughed too hard; a harsh, humourless laugh that was almost sobbing. _'By the end, I really will be the Mad King,'_ he said, giggling. _'Oh gods… isn't that beautiful, Shruikan? Everyone thinks I'm mad, and in a few days I really will be. You can't…'_ he tried to mop the sweat off his forehead on the sleeve of his robe. _'You can't say that fate doesn't have a sense of humour, can you?'_

Shruikan sighed. _'What are we going to do?'_

'_There's nothing we can do, Shruikan. By this time next week we'll both be dead. Or… I will be. I don't know about you, but… I can block you out of my mind. Sever the connection. So you don't feel it.'_

'_No, Galbatorix. Never do that. I don't want to lose you like that. I want to be with you until the end comes.'_

'_But I will do it anyway,'_ said Galbatorix. _'If you knew what it felt like, you would… no. I don't want you to know what it feels like. No-one should ever know. It would kill you.'_

'_I know,'_ said Shruikan. _'I want it to. I do not want to live without you, Galbatorix. When you die, I die. We shall go to the afterlife together.'_

Galbatorix sighed, a deep, weary, hoarse sigh. He could already hear the faint gurgling in his chest. _'I don't deserve you, Shruikan.'_

Shruikan stared out over the city, where the sun was just beginning to set. _'Perhaps it's better this way,'_ he muttered. _'I would have wanted to die in combat, if I had had the choice. Not like this. We were made to end our lives in combat, side by side, not to die by disease, after all our greatest glories are done. But there are no more enemies to fight. This life is not living. Not for us. And if the world has no further use for us, then we may as well go.'_

'_We won't be missed,'_ Galbatorix said softly.

When Morzan arrived at the village of Carvahall, he saw right away that he had been expected. Word of his coming must have gone ahead of him, because long before Idün landed the people had already gathered in the crossroads at the centre of the village and were waiting for him. They ran for shelter as Idün landed, and Morzan jumped down off her back and took in his surroundings. The village was tiny – hardly more than a cluster of simple wooden buildings connected by plain dirt streets. A farming community, secluded from the rest of the country. It was a wonder it had managed to cling on for so long at all. The people themselves – about thirty all up – were simply clad, and from the way they were looking at him and Idün it was plain they'd never seen a dragon or a rider before.

One man ventured timidly toward him, bowing low when Morzan turned to watch him.

'My – my Lord,' he stammered. 'I am… we are greatly honoured by your presence.'

'Who're you?' Morzan said brusquely. He was in no mood for formalities.

The man dared to look up at him. 'I am Archenan Podrickson, my Lord. I am the village elder, of sorts.'

Morzan looked bored. 'Is this Carvahall?'

'Yes, my Lord. We are only a small community, but we are loyal to the Empire, and to King Galbatorix. If we-,'

Morzan waved him into silence. 'Yeah, right, I believe you. I'm gonna be staying here a while. Is there an inn or something around here?'

'My Lord, we do not have… that is, we have an inn, but it does not have any rooms for hire. Too few travellers ever come here. But if you could suffer the indignity, my Lord, I am sure there will be someone here prepared to offer you shelter for the night. The best we have is at your service.'

Morzan stared at the silent crowd of villagers. 'I just need a place to sleep for a couple of nights. Nothing fancy, but I don't want nobody bothering me.'

No-one spoke. They glanced at each other, and some people quietly moved to the back of the crowd. Nearly all of them looked petrified.

Archenan threw an appealing glance at them. 'Please, everyone,' he said. 'We cannot insult…' he paused, and turned back to Morzan. 'I am sorry, my Lord, but I do not believe I know your name.'

'Morzan Drasborn,' said Morzan. 'I'm the governor of Gil'ead. Is anyone going to offer me a room, or am I going to have to camp in the Spine?'

Archenan looked mortifed. 'Certainly not, my Lord! I will make enquiries, and-,'

At this point, a girl stepped forward from the crowd and gently laid a hand on his arm. 'It's all right, Archenan. Calm down.'

Archenan glanced at her. 'What is it, Selena?'

The girl patted him on the shoulder and came closer to Morzan. She was a head shorter than him and had a soft, pretty, girlish face, framed by locks of blonde hair. She looked about fifteen, or maybe a little older, and though her look toward him was nervous and deferential, there was a certain confidence about her as well as she curtsied toward him. 'My Lord Morzan. My name is Selena Violetsdaughter, and if you would like, I can give you a place in my home for as long as you need it.'

Morzan regarded her. 'Selena, is it?'

'Yes, my Lord.'

Morzan stood still for a few moments, looking her up and down, and then abruptly turned away toward Idün and lifted his bags down from her back. He patted her on the snout and she took off and flew away over the village, looking for a place in the forest where she could rest. Once she had gone, Morzan slung his bags on his back and turned back toward Selena. 'Show me the way.'

Selena curtsied again. 'As you wish, my Lord.'

Morzan followed her away through the buildings, watched by the villagers. Selena's home turned out to be right at the edge of the village, on the side of a forested hill which was backed by the looming crags of the Spine. It was a small building – smaller than the barn next to it – and clearly belonged to a farmer; there was a large vegetable garden out the front, and a flock of chickens strutted around in the dirt where a crop of potatoes had just been dug, pecking for worms.

'This is my brother's home,' Selena said apologetically. 'I hope it will be comfortable enough for you, my Lord.'

Morzan grunted. 'I'll survive.'

Selena opened the front door and showed Morzan in. Inside the house was even more rustic and simple than he had expected; the floor was bare earth and the furnishings were made from unvarnished wood. The fireplace was made from stone slabs, and strings of onions and baskets hung from the ceiling. Morzan had to duck his head to get in through the door, and stood in the middle of the largeish room that seemed to be both kitchen and dining room for his host's family.

'My bedroom is through that door, my Lord,' said Selena, indicating a doorway to the left, which had a piece of cloth draped over it. 'My brother's room is that way. He is not here right now, and I'm sure he won't mind if you use his bed, my Lord.'

Morzan headed for the door indicated. There was a tiny bedroom on the other side, with a simple straw mattress and woollen blankets on the floor. Boxes were stacked against the wall, and the only other thing in there was a clothes chest. He sighed and dumped his bags on the floor.

'I am sorry, my Lord,' said Selena, from the doorway. 'It is the best we have.'

'It'll do,' said Morzan. 'D'you have anything to eat?'

'Oh! Of course, my Lord. Come into the kitchen, and I will make something for you.'

They returned to the main room, and Morzan sat down on a stool at the table and watched disinterestedly as Selena hurried to get him some bread and cheese and some smoked sausage. She laid the food out on the table, saying; 'Here, my Lord. Eat.'

Morzan picked up the bread. 'You got anything to drink? Wine?'

'We have cider, my Lord. I will go and fetch some for you.'

She duly fetched and poured the cider; it was sour and had bits of apple skin in it, but he drank it anyway.

Selena sat down on the other side of the table and watched him with apparent fascination.

'My Lord,' she said at length. 'May I ask…?'

Morzan put down his clay mug. 'Go ahead.'

'Why have you come here, my Lord?' said Selena. 'We are only a small village, and there is very little here that could be of interest to a Rider.'

'I'm on the King's business,' said Morzan. He paused for a moment. Maybe this girl could help him. 'I'm supposed to be looking for something. How well do you know the country hereabouts?'

'Quite well, my Lord,' said Selena.

'What about the Spine?'

'I have… visited it a few times, my Lord,' said Selena. 'What do you want to find there?'

'A cave,' said Morzan. 'An hour's walk from here.'

Selena looked thoughtful. 'I think I may know the place you refer to, my Lord. My brother has visited it on his hunting trips, and he described it to me. I think I could help you find it, if you will allow me to, my Lord.'

'Is it far from here?' said Morzan.

'Not too far, my Lord. But we should perhaps wait until tomorrow. The Spine is dangerous at night… not that I think you could not protect me, my Lord,' she added hastily, but with a slight gleam in her eye.

'I can wait,' said Morzan.

He finished eating, and Selena took his plate. 'Would you like some more, my Lord?'

'Some more cider,' said Morzan. Selena poured it for him, and he drank it in a few swallows and then stood up. 'I'm going to go meet my dragon,' he said. 'I'll be back later.'

'Yes, my Lord,' said Selena. She paused a moment. 'May… may I come with you, my Lord?'

Morzan looked at her, and then shrugged. 'If you want.'

He walked out through the back door of the house, which led to a fair-sized field of wheat. Beyond that was the forest. Morzan skirted around the field and went in among the trees, ignoring Selena trailing after him. _'Idün? Where are you?'_

'_Just over your head,'_ the red dragon answered. _'There's a clear spot up ahead. I'll meet you there.'_

Morzan climbed the hill, swearing under his breath. _'I'm getting too old for this shit. How much further is it?'_

'_Not far. Just at the top of the hill.'_

He saw Idün fly overhead and descend below the trees. A few moments later there were the crashing sounds of trees falling, and pain stabbed at his feet and legs. _'Ow! Watch what you're doing, damn it!'_

'_Sorry. The gap was smaller than I realised.'_

Morzan reached the top of the hill and found Idün waiting in a clearing, with the remains of a few trees crushed beneath her talons. He strolled over to her and patted her on the snout. _'Well, we're here. And-,'_ he turned and gestured at Selena as she caught up with him and stopped at the edge of the treeline. _'This girl's offered to help. Says she thinks she knows where the cave is.'_

Selena was watching them warily. Morzan went to her. 'S'alright,' he said carelessly, not sure why he wanted to reassure her. 'She's harmless. Her name's Idün.'

'She's beautiful, my Lord,' said Selena, sounding as if she meant it. 'I have never seen a dragon before.'

Morzan paused. 'She said is it okay for her to have a closer look at you.'

'Of course, my Lord!' Selena exclaimed, though she moved back a little as she said it.

Morzan glanced at Idün, and the dragon took a step forward and lowered her nose toward the girl. Selena stood still and let Idün scent her, and her nervousness seemed to recede a little. 'May I touch her, my Lord?' she asked.

'She says it's all right,' said Morzan.

Selena put her hands on Idün's snout. Idün seemed to like it; she closed her eyes and crooned softly. Encouraged, Selena rubbed the scales around her nostrils, scratching them as she might do with a horse or a dog. 'Are all dragons this… magnificent, my Lord?'

Morzan smiled very slightly in spite of himself. 'Yeah. Idün's not as big as the old elders' dragons were, but she's the prettiest dragon I ever saw. I called her Ruby when she was a hatchling and I didn't know her real name. Scales like jewels.'

'She's beautiful,' said Selena.

Idün lifted her head away from her as gently as she could. 'Will you help my rider to find the cave, Selena?' she asked aloud.

Selena started. 'She spoke!'

'So she did,' said Morzan. 'Dragons can, if they want. They don't usually, though.'

Idün chuckled a rough dragon chuckle, but said nothing more. She curled up in the clearing and rested her head on her claws, and stretched her wings wide as she yawned.

'C'mon,' said Morzan. 'Let's leave her in peace.' He patted Idün's snout again to say farewell, and left the clearing with Selena. 'Which way is this cave?' he asked as they walked.

'Northwards, my Lord,' said Selena. 'My brother said it was at the base of a cliff.'

Morzan glanced at the sky. It was late evening by now, and the sun was going down. He ached from the saddle, and Zar'roc, still strapped to his back, was weighing him down. 'Well, we'll see it tomorrow,' he said. 'I need to get some sleep.'

'Yes, my Lord.' Selena showed him back into the house and to his room, and he took Zar'roc off his back and laid it down next to the bed, where it would be within easy reach, and took off his boots.

'I will leave you now, my Lord,' said Selena. 'Call me if there is anything you need.'

'Sure,' Morzan muttered.

Once she had left, he stripped off his tunic and pulled back the blankets on the mattress. It looked lumpy and uninviting, but he lay down anyway and tried to get comfortable.

But he couldn't. The straw was rough and the blankets were coarse, and no matter which way he lay it wouldn't stop bothering him. He tried putting his tunic underneath him, but the fastenings stuck into his back, and he pulled it out again and tossed it across the room.

Eventually he dozed, but only lightly, and then he finally lost patience and got up again.

The main room was deserted by now, and the fire was smouldering. Selena had gone to bed. Morzan sat down at the table and found the flask of cider still sitting where she had left it. He poured some more into his mug and drank it, screwing up his face at the taste. But after another few mugfuls the alcohol started to do its work, and he sighed and let some of the tension drain out of his muscles.

The cider was stronger than he had realised. He emptied the flask without really noticing, and when he got up to fetch another the room lurched around him and he nearly fell over. He steadied himself on the table, clutching at his head. The fire had gone out, so he muttered a spell and summoned up a glow of red magic. He found another flask of cider by its light and lugged it back to the table. Getting the cork out aggravated him, but he managed it in the end, cursing under his breath, and began to drink. He always seemed to need more these days. One drink was never enough. There always had to be another one, and then another. He hated it.

The moon had risen outside by now. A half-moon; pale and watery through the clouds.

In her room, Selena was woken up by a strange sound. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding. There was someone out in the kitchen. She could hear them.

But then she remembered her guest, and relaxed a little. Maybe he had decided he wanted some more food. She decided to get up and check on him. Just to make sure he didn't need her for anything.

With that in mind, she pulled on her dress and stepped toward the curtain that covered her door. There was a strange red light coming through it, and she peered through a tear and saw Morzan sitting at the table. He was surrounded by a halo of redness – magic, she realised with a start – and there was a mug clutched in his hands. He seemed to be doing something. He was sitting with his shoulders hunched and his head low, apparently fixated on the table. And there was a strange sound coming from him.

Selena realised, slowly and with astonishment, that he was crying.

She stayed where she was for a long time, not knowing what to do. The idea of a rider… and a rider such as him… a member of the Forsworn – the most feared people in the country – _crying_…

He would not want to be disturbed. He would not want her to know that she had seen him. But she could not turn away from him. She stayed where she was, transfixed, heart pounding.

And he did not stop crying. His sobs were low and broken, and shuddering, and she could hear him mumbling to himself every now and then, his hands clenching. He took another drink from the mug, and refilled it from the flask beside him, spilling cider onto the tabletop. He didn't seem to notice. He lifted the mug again, and drank deeply.

That was when Selena finally stopped hiding. She pulled the curtain aside and quietly stepped out into the room. Morzan didn't notice her at first. She could see him there, clad only in his trousers, so vulnerable in spite of his huge shoulders and barrel chest.

Without thinking, not knowing what she was doing, she touched him lightly on the arm.

Instantly, Morzan swung around and hit her hard in the face. She fell over backward, hitting the ground with a thump that knocked all the air out of her lungs, and then Morzan was there, getting up out of his seat, terrible in the red light. _'What are you doing here?'_ he roared, raising his fist.

Selena scrabbled away from him. 'I'm sorry!' she babbled. 'I am – please, my Lord-!'

Morzan appeared to relax slightly. 'You scared me,' he mumbled, slumping back into his chair and picking up the mug again. 'Never… never sneak up on me, all right? I can't – it's not right. Bad enough with those sons of whores trying to kill us all without being snuck up on by peasant girls.' He drank deeply.

Selena got up. Her nose was bleeding, and one eye was starting to swell. 'I am sorry, my Lord,' she said again. 'I did not mean to frighten you.'

'_Frighten_ me?' said Morzan, suddenly angry again. 'Y'think… think I'm scared of you, girl?'

'No, my Lord, I did not mean-,'

'But I am scared,' Morzan said abruptly. 'I'm scared of – of – not you. Not scared of you, girl. You're just a girl. No. I'm scared of… know what I'm scared of?'

'You're not scared of anything, my Lord,' said Selena, suddenly bold. 'You are a dragon-

rider, and the King's strong right arm.'

'Yeah?' said Morzan. 'Am I?' he snorted and fumbled for the flask again. 'You're a stupid girl, girl. You don't know nothin' about anythin'. I buried one of my best friends a while back. Sealed him up in a tomb. Vander. His name was Vander. He was my friend. He was my…' he shuddered suddenly, and fresh tears ran down his face. 'Oh gods, Vander. And Tranah. And Owyne, and Ana, and Roland, and Tuomas, and – and-,' he started to sob. 'They're dead. They're all dead. All the riders are dead. I've killed… I killed…'

Selena sat down beside him. 'My mother died,' she said softly. 'And my father. My brother brought me up. I know how it feels to see people you love die, my Lord.'

'Do you?' Morzan rasped, turning on her. 'Do you know that, girl? Well do you know what it's like to kill a man? You ever kill your best friend? You see him look in your eyes as he dies? You ever hear people call you a monster? You ever hear people screaming your name as they died, hear them cursing you like you was… like you was evil? You ever see that?' his eyes were tortured, his voice low and wild.

'No,' Selena whispered.

'They're after me,' said Morzan. 'The Varden. They killed Tuomas. They killed Ana and Orwyne. And Tranah… gods, Tranah hanged herself. I saw her when she died. Her face was black. Like a cherry. And Vander. He took poison. An' now I'm the last one. The last one left. And I dunno where I'm gonna go when all this is over. I dunno what… what I'll do. Kill myself, maybe. Or let the Varden come an' do me in. It's all just… I never wanted to hurt anyone. I never wanted to… I just thought… I thought it was right. I thought _he_ was right. I thought he was my master, but he – we all just… and I'm gonna be next.' He gripped the mug in one hand, so tightly the clay started to crack. 'I'm gonna be next,' he whispered again.

Selena laid a hand on his arm. He didn't try and stop her, and she moved her hand upward, feeling the thick muscle and the coarse hairs against her skin. She was watching him closely, and her large, soft eyes were fixed on his face, full of a deep and powerful fascination. 'It's all right, my Lord,' she said softly, reaching up to caress his face, her fingers stroking the twisted scar that went from his eye to his mouth.

Morzan fell silent, his head turning toward her. 'I'm done,' he said. 'I'm dead. We're all dead. The King's gonna lose me too. I only wanted to help him. I thought I was his friend, but I…'

Selena touched his hair, letting the rough, greying strands tangle in her fingers. 'I can make you feel better, my Lord,' she said. 'If you want me to.'

Morzan peered at her. 'You shouldn't – shouldn't – shouldn't be doing that,' he mumbled vaguely.

Selena stood up, holding her hand out toward him. 'Come with me, my Lord.'

Morzan stood too, staggering a little. Selena caught hold of his arm and steadied him. 'It's all right, my Lord,' she said again. 'I can make it all right. Come…'

Morzan said nothing more. He let her take his arm and gently lead him away from the table and the cider, and into her room, where the curtain fell into place behind them. The magical light around him was still there, and he did not think to let it go out. He stood in the middle of Selena's room, blinking vaguely.

Selena pushed him toward her bed, and he slumped back onto it. 'These mattresses are shit,' he mumbled.

Selena crouched by him and ran her hands over his chest, feeling the deep scars that stood out amongst the skin. 'Hush, my Lord,' she said. 'Everything will be all right.'

Morzan stared vaguely at her. 'No,' he said. 'It won't. It won't – it's-,'

But Selena did not hear him. She undid the fastenings on the front of her dress and let her breasts fall out, pale and soft in the magical glow. 'I want you, my Lord,' she whispered, and climbed on top of him.


	17. The Cave

Chapter Seventeen

The Cave

When Morzan woke up the next morning, his head ached savagely. He groaned and opened his eyes, which were dry and crusted. His stomach churned horribly, and his skin felt chilled. And there was something on his chest.

As he looked around blearily, trying to remember where he was, memories came rushing back. He turned his head and saw Selena. She was asleep, her head and arms resting on his chest and her legs entangled with his. Both of them were naked. He groaned again and rubbed his forehead, trying to remember exactly what had happened.

'_Morzan?'_

The pain flared up in his head almost instantly. _'Is it morning yet?'_

'_Yes. My gods, what were you drinking last night? I think my head is going to explode.'_

'_I think I had some bad cider. Well, all cider's bad, but this…'_ he shuddered and tried to spit the taste out.

'_How's that girl? You didn't sleep with her, did you?'_

'_I think so, yeah…'_

Idün sighed. _'You didn't hit her first, did you?'_

Morzan tried to ignore Selena's swollen eye. _'I didn't mean to. She scared me. Anyway, it wasn't like that. I was drunk and she just…'_ he paused. _'It was pretty good, though. She ain't no virgin, that's for sure.'_

'_Try and be gentler with her than the last one,'_ said Idün.

'_Why bother?'_ said Morzan. _'I ain't staying in this dirt-farm any longer'n I have to. There ain't gonna be any chances to be gentle with her.'_ He sighed. _'I better get up…'_

He nudged Selena awake. She blinked and yawned, raising her head, and smiled at him when she saw his face. 'Good morning, my Lord. How do you feel?'

'I got a headache,' Morzan mumbled. 'Get me some water.'

'At once, my Lord.' Selena got up and pulled her dress back on without embarrassment. She left the room and quickly returned with a jug of water. Morzan grabbed and downed it in a few swallows, not caring when it soaked into his beard. 'Tastes of mud,' he muttered, handing it back.

'I am sorry, my Lord. Well water is all we have. Shall I get some more?'

'Yeah.'

He got up and pulled his trousers on while she was gone. The morning air was chilly. He looked around for his tunic, but couldn't find it.

Selena returned. Instead of handing him the water straight away, she moved in close and touched his chest. 'You're a strong man, my Lord. The strongest I have ever seen.'

Morzan took the jug of water out of her hand and drank. She watched him, apparently not upset by his lack of interest in her. 'Did you enjoy my company last night, my Lord?' she asked demurely.

Morzan lowered the jug. 'You a whore?' he asked.

The bluntness of it didn't seem to embarrass her. 'No, my Lord. I do not pleasure men for money, if that is what you mean. I choose men who interest me. Strong men. And you…' she smiled. 'You are a fine man, my Lord. And I hoped that I could give you some comfort.'

Morzan paused. 'Thanks,' he said at last. 'It was… it was good.'

Selena smiled again. She had an innocent smile, to match her eyes. It did not match with the smouldering look she had given him the night before, or the confidence with which she had pressed home her advances. 'It was good for me, too, my Lord. Better than any others. Shall I prepare some breakfast for you now?'

'Yeah. Not too much. And get rid of that damned cider.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

Morzan ate the bread and dried apples without much enthusiasm. His stomach didn't want to handle food right now, but he knew he would regret it later if he didn't eat. Selena sat and watched him while he ate. She touched the scars on his chest. 'How did you get these, my Lord?'

Morzan yawned, showing a few missing teeth, and rubbed his forehead. 'That happened during the war. And this one, on my face.'

'Did the King…?'

'No. It happened at Vroengard. I got taken captive. Me an' two of my mates. They wanted information. I was… they did it with a red-hot poker. Knocked me around some, too. Broke my nose an' cost me a few teeth.'

Selena leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. 'You are brave, my Lord.'

Morzan snorted and took another swig of water. 'I ain't. I got myself captured 'cause I was too stupid to think first. Couldn't get myself out of there, either. Galbatorix… the King rescued us. Snuck in there all on his own to bust us out. I just woke up in my cell and he was there, watching over me. Healed my wounds and got me out of that cell, and we all escaped from the fort. Then he went back. All on his own, with six other riders in there. If they'd caught him, they woulda… he'd've died. Slowly. But he went in anyway. Fought Vrael alone, and would've killed him too, only Nöst knocked him off the top of the tower and into the sea. Shruikan fished him out. Then, like, two minutes after he woke up and spat out some sea-water he was off an' running after Vrael like a maniac.' Morzan suddenly realised how much he was saying, and cut off, hiding his embarrassment with another mouthful of water. 'Yeah, those were better days,' he said eventually. 'When we knew what we were about. Runnin', fightin', hidin' an' plannin'… it was all so easy. We knew who the enemy were then. Now all we seem to do is try and fight shadows. And each other.' He sighed.

Selena had listened closely. 'Do you know why the King sent you to find this cave, my Lord?'

'No,' Morzan said shortly. 'I'm just doin' it because he said so. You don't argue with him. Not any more.'

'Is… is he really mad, my Lord?' said Selena, with astonishing boldness. 'Many believe so, but…'

'Could a madman keep this godsforsaken country peaceful for five times longer'n you've been alive?' said Morzan. 'Well? What d'you think, girl?'

'I don't believe it myself, my Lord,' Selena said hastily. 'But I have often wondered what the King is like in person.'

'Well he ain't mad,' said Morzan. 'It's a damned lie the Varden put about. He's the sanest man I know. He knows what he's doing. Always has. But he ain't like he used to be. Neither'm I, come to that. No-one was the same afterwards. But he's my master, an' he always will be. Yours, too. An' if you peasants had any brains in your heads at all, you'd be glad it was that way. If the old riders had gotten wind of you calling Vrael mad, you'd've been in it deep. We didn't fight 'em to enslave you, we did it to set you free. Not that any of you bastards care. No, it's all just bullshit about taxes and evil rulers an' how much better it was when those motherloving bastard elves were in charge an' running human beings into the ground all the time for being human. Well I'd like to see any of you do a better job than us. The King nearly killed himself last week trying to help some people with the plague, but does anyone talk about that? No.' He snarled and tore the loaf of bread in half.

'I am grateful to you, my Lord,' said Selena. 'I always have been.'

Morzan grunted. 'You gonna show me to this cave today?'

'Yes, my Lord. If you could wait a little while, I will pack some food to take with us.'

Morzan finished his breakfast and went back to his room while she busied herself packing bread and apples into a basket. His hangover was starting to clear up, and he pulled on his boots and tunic and strapped Zar'roc to his back. When he re-emerged into the main room, Selena had put on a cloak and was ready to go.

'I will lead the way, my Lord,' she said.

Morzan adjusted Zar'roc on his back. 'All right. Get going.'

He followed Selena out of the house and away up into the forest, moving slowly but strongly enough. They met up with Idün along the way, and she took off and flew above them to scout out the land ahead. Her shadow passed over them from time to time as they walked on through the trees, heading toward the Spine.

The walk proved to be a fairly easy one; Morzan got into his stride eventually and walked beside Selena. She moved with the confidence of one who had been this way plenty of times before, and did not try and make conversation. She was intelligent enough to sense that he was not in a talkative mood.

The trees darkened as they drew nearer to the Spine, and now they could see massive cliffs looming ahead of them, marking the boundary of the great mountain range.

'The cave should be somewhere among them, my Lord,' said Selena.

There were fewer trees around the base of the cliffs. The ground beneath them was strewn with rubble that had fallen from them over the years, and the stream they had followed to get there led to a small waterfall. There was no sign of a cave here, so they began to walk Westwards along the cliffs, Idün following from above.

Eventually the red dragon contacted Morzan, saying; _'I think I've found it. It's not far.'_

Morzan pressed on, and sure enough there was a cave up ahead. The cliff was lower and less steep and harsh there, and a grassy patch ran up to its edge, where there was a small canyon – a kind of bay in the rocky face, its bottom carpeted with grass. The cave was at the back of it.

It was bigger than he had expected. He didn't have to duck his head to get in, and the space inside was large and high-ceilinged. The walls were coated with moss and lichen, and there were puddles of water on the floor, but he could see signs that people had been there some time in the past. There was a stack of clay pots against one wall, covered in dust and cobwebs. One or two had fallen off the stack and were in pieces on the floor. There was an old fireplace in the middle of the area, and in a corner were the rotting remains of some blankets. The air smelt of mould and decay.

Morzan stood in the entrance, taking it all in. 'Is this it?' he said aloud.

Selena joined him. 'This must be it,' she said. 'My brother said there were pots in it. He didn't know who'd left them there, but there's nothing in any of them. He checked.'

'You did well,' said Morzan. 'Thanks for that. I would've been looking around for weeks if you hadn't helped me.'

'It was my pleasure, my Lord,' said Selena. 'Shall we rest a little here?'

'Yeah, may as well.' Morzan sat down with his back to the wall, and lit a fire in the fireplace with a quick blast of magic.

Selena sat down beside him. 'Is that what magic looks like, my Lord?'

'Fire magic, yeah. It's easy.'

'You make it look so effortless, my Lord,' said Selena. 'What does it feel like?'

'What does what feel like?'

'To use magic. I always wondered what it felt like to be a mage, my Lord.'

'It's simple,' said Morzan. 'You just concentrate and say the words.'

'What words, my Lord?' said Selena.

'Depends on the spell. For fire, it's "brisingr". There's others. Hundreds of 'em. The spell won't work if you don't know the words. Some people can do it without them, but I can't.' He noticed her face was still swollen. 'I can heal that if you want.'

Selena touched the large purple bruise that had formed around her eye. It looked painful, but she managed a smile. 'I have been bruised by the King's strong right arm. I should consider it an honour.'

Morzan grunted. 'I've had bruises. Vrael's guards beat the living hell out of me in that cell. Even _Vrael_ thumped me in the face once. Didn't consider that an honour though. Bruises are bruises; they hurt no matter who gave 'em to you. Hold still.' He spread his hand over the bruise and healed it.

Selena started a little, and felt the healthy skin. 'You healed it!'

'I shouldn't've hit you,' Morzan muttered.

She kissed him on the cheek, where Vroengard's torture had left its scar. 'I forgive you, my Lord.'

Morzan ignored her at first, but she persisted, moving closer to him and running her fingers down his arm and onto his chest. She kissed him again. 'No-one would see us here, my Lord,' she murmured.

Morzan glanced at her. He didn't move for a moment, and then he abruptly pulled her toward him and kissed her. She embraced him, digging her fingers into the rolls of muscle on his back, her mouth pressed against his. He caressed her, his big hands clumsy but eager. Selena slid her hand downward and began to unfasten the front of his trousers. 'Here, my Lord,' she whispered. 'Now.'

Morzan said nothing. He bore down on her, laying her down on the cave floor, and began to pull at the cords that held her dress closed. They broke, and his hands found her breasts. Selena's eyes were alight, alive as they never were at any other time. She pulled Morzan down toward her, her free hand busy at his groin. 'My Lord,' she whispered again, mouth opening toward his, and when they had parted and Morzan began to breathe heavily, he murmured back; 'Selena…'

It was to be only the first of many couplings that took place within the face, where long ago a grieving boy and a wild elf with a dragon's heart had fallen in love. Neither Morzan nor Selena spoke much during that time. They slept, woke, ate and then came together once more, heedless of the hard stone floor beneath them. They never discussed it, but both somehow came to accept that this would be more than just a brief visit.

Morzan, whose loneliness and despair ran far deeper than he had ever acknowledged, even to himself, turned to Selena as a source of comfort, and she was more than a match for him. Her life in Carvahall was a dull one, and though she had never been shy or timid when it came to the opposite sex the men of her village had quickly bored her.

Morzan, however, was different. She had barely paused to consider the enormous age difference between them, and when she did think of it it didn't bother her much. Morzan fascinated her. His square face with its heavy jaw and thick nose, his broad shoulders and muscular chest and arms were all signs of great strength – and it was that strength that aroused her toward him. And he was a rider, with the power of a dragon at his command, a city to rule, and the ear of the King himself. Here was power unlike any Selena had ever known, power far beyond anything she could imagine.

What did it matter, then, that his face was lined and his dark-brown hair greying? In a way, his great age only served to make him even more fascinating to her; for his immortality was yet another strength that her other lovers did not possess.

And though his attentions toward her were rough and his conversation brusque and monosyllabic, it was these qualities that kept her coming back to him, time after time.

So she stayed by him in the cave and did as he asked her to, until three days had passed and they both sensed that it was time to go back to the world and the lives they had left behind.

Idün was the one to do the job she and Morzan had been assigned. The red dragon dug her talons into the cliff-face above the cave and pulled downward with all her strength, creating a large rock-fall. Chunks of stone came crashing down under her onslaught, and she easily shoved them into place with her forepaws, burying the cave behind a heap of rubble and sealing it away from the world – most likely forever. When she had done she returned to Morzan's side and crouched low so he could get into the saddle.

Morzan turned to Selena and put a small leather bag into her hands. 'Here,' he said shortly. 'Some gold for your trouble.'

Selena tucked it into the pocket of her dress and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. 'I won't forget you, my sweet Lord.'

He managed a slight smile. 'See yeh,' he said, and climbed onto Idün's back.

The red dragon flew away from the Spine with an easy flick of her wings, Morzan holding on. He looked back once, briefly, but Selena had already gone.

He sighed and straightened himself in the saddle. Back to Gil'ead again, and duty.

When Morzan got back to Gil'ead, he found good news waiting for him. The plague remained incurable, but it had not spread out of the city and was starting to die down inside it.

'We've discovered more about it, and now we know how to contain it,' the man who brought him the news explained. 'It's the sores that are the danger, my Lord. The sores and the sweat. The coughing is not dangerous, but physical contact or sharing food spread the disease to others. As long as victims keep their skin covered and stay isolated, they are almost completely harmless. That was why the healers became infected – they were touching the victims to try and treat their sores.'

'What about the poor sods who've got it, then?' said Morzan.

'Alas, there is nothing that can be done for them. They are doomed to suffer. But we can protect others from infection. In fact, the city's health inspectors are advising us to reopen the city and resume trading – under strict regulations, of course.'

Morzan considered it. 'I'll talk to them and maybe have a look at this myself first.'

'As you wish, my Lord.'

Once he had spoken to the surviving healers and sought advice from several different people, Morzan ordered for the city's gates to be opened and for normal trade to resume. Everyone leaving the city had to bare their chest to the guards in order to prove that they did not have the telltale weeping sores, and the sick were confined to their homes or to the hospitals and kept isolated until they died and were burnt or buried.

By the end of three months there were clear signs that these measures were working. A few neighbouring towns reported small outbreaks of plague, but these remained minor and did not spread. Inside Gil'ead itself, fewer and fewer new cases were reported, until the city was more or less back to normal. But more than two thousand people had died – at least half of the city's original population – making it one of the worst epidemics in living memory.

Morzan sent a full report to Urû'baen, but to his dismay the reply that came back was not from Galbatorix but from one of his officials.

It hurt Morzan more than he was willing to admit, and when by the end of those three months he had not heard so much as a single word from his old friend his anger and despondency were so great that he refused point-blank to go and see him.

'_He doesn't want me to come,'_ he told Idün when the red dragon argued for it. _'If he wanted me there he'd say so. He told me to go and not come back, so I will.'_

When Idün persisted he ignored her and stalked off toward the castle's walls. There he stood alone on the parapet and watched the sun begin to go down. The city below looked peaceful, its sounds calm. The worst was over.

'My Lord?'

Morzan turned. A servant had approached him. 'Yeah, what is it?'

'I'm sorry to bother you, my Lord,' said the servant. 'But someone has come to the castle and is asking for you. I didn't think it was anything important, but I thought I should ask just to be certain.'

'Who is it?'

'A girl, my Lord. She says her name is Selena and that you know her, my Lord.'

Morzan started. 'Selena?'

'Yes, my Lord. Selena Violetsdaughter.'

Morzan was already leaving. 'Show me,' he commanded.

The servant led him to one of the courtyards just inside the castle walls. And there was Selena, sure enough, looking tired and travel-stained. But she smiled and came to meet him eagerly enough, and curtsied to him. 'My Lord.'

'What d'you want?' Morzan asked abruptly.

She looked nervous. 'I am sorry, my Lord, but I did not know what else to do, and I thought you could help. At the very least, I thought you should know.'

'Know what?'

Selena folded her hands over her stomach. 'I am going to have your child,' she said.


	18. At Sunset

Chapter Eighteen

At Sunset

The sun was setting over Urû'baen as well. Shruikan could see it very clearly from his perch on the dragon-roost – stark red and gold, glowing eerily over the city's rooftops.

The black dragon turned away and laid his head down on the stone, beside the limp form that lay between his foreclaws, and listened to Galbatorix's soft moans.

It had been five days. Five days since Morzan had left. Five days since the sores had begun to appear. Five days in which Shruikan had been a lone and helpless witness to Galbatorix's slow decline.

The initial stage, with the sores and exhaustion, had lasted two days. During that time Galbatorix had been relatively strong and more or less pain free – able at least to eat and to fulfill his duties – though he did so by leaving completed documents outside the door at the bottom of the tower, which he had magically sealed, for the servants to collect when they came to bring his meals and the stacks of new reports.

But once the next stage of the disease began – with laboured, painful breathing and a rasping cough – he was soon robbed of the last of his strength, and after that his dignity as well.

By the middle of the third day he was unable to climb the stairs to his room, and by the morning after that he could not breathe in without pain. The constant cough was torture; every sincle one sent red-hot pain through Shruikan's throat and head as it did to Galbatorix, until the suffering man could do nothing but huddle in a corner of his room and cry quietly – the soft, weak sobs of a man who knew he was facing a cruel death, and who was, bit by bit, losing all the hope he had had left.

And after that had come the final and worst stage of his decline. As the fever took over he became confused – talking to people who had died more than fifty years ago, issuing commands to absent officials and servants, and trying pathetically to fight off invisible enemies with a sword he could no longer lift and magic that would not obey him, and Shruikan could do nothing but watch as his greatest and only friend lost his mind, little by little, until at last he had become every bit the gibbering madman the ignorant spoke of in taverns with so much dread.

But by then Shruikan could no longer speak to him, or feel his sufferings.

'_Goodbye, Shruikan.'_ It was the last coherent thing Galbatorix said to him, his mental voice weak and resigned before it finally vanished altogether. In spite of Shruikan's pleading and resistance, he had severed the link between them – removing all traces of his mind from that of the dragon and shutting himself away inside his own head. And there he stayed, a prisoner to his own pain and delirium, waiting for death to come.

For a long time Shruikan had been forced to stay on the dragon roost, alone, not knowing if Galbatorix was alive or dead, his mental voice calling out for an answer that never came.

And then at last, on the evening of the fourth day, he heard a faint scuffling from just below the shattered trapdoor and turned to see Galbatorix drag himself out into the open air.

Shruikan's heart leapt at the sight of him. 'Galbatorix!'

Galbatorix did not answer. He lay face-down, unmoving, but then started to scrabble at the stone, trying pathetically to get to Shruikan.

Shruikan scooped him up in his claws and pulled him to him, encircling him with his tail and spreading a wing over him to protect him.

Galbatorix lay on his back, eyes closed, barely breathing. Shruikan sniffed at him, and the strench of disease hit him immediately, moist and clinging.

'Galbatorix?'

Still Galbatorix did not respond, though his face creased in pain as he drew in another laboured breath. He was deathly pale, as if all the blood had been sucked out of him. His robe was stained with blood and vomit, and every breath was a low, tortured gasp.

Shruikan tried to make mental contact with him, but could not. Even now, Galbatorix was shutting him out. It left him feeling more alone than he had ever done in his life.

'Galbatorix?' he said aloud. 'Galbatorix, please…'

Galbatorix's eyelids flickered. 'Five days…'

Shruikan started. 'Galbatorix?'

Galbatorix's eyes opened slowly and he stared up at Shruikan. But his expression was blank, his eyes distant and unseeing. 'Five days,' he mumbled again. 'Five days in the earth, dead alive, dead alive. Half-shape break the circle in the snow with the white blood-blade, five days dead alive, five days gone…'

Shruikan shuddered softly, and two tears leaked from his eyes and dripped onto the stone. He held onto Galbatorix as well as he could, trying to keep him comfortable, hoping some part of him would know he was there to watch over him.

Galbatorix was burning hot against Shruikan's scales, and his head jerked convulsively, mouth opening in a rigid snarl. He started to speak again, in dark elvish now, his voice dry and harsh. '_Dwi adwyth, ladd 'm, Dwi adwyth, ladd 'm achos ddial, Dwi adwyth, Dwi adwyth_…' then he abruptly switched to the common tongue. 'Blue, red, green, silverwhite, blind eye, no rest, dead alive, dead alive, kill me, I am evil, kill me for revenge, kill me, kill me, kill me…'

His ravings went on in this vein for a long time, until his voice ran out and all he could do was cough. There was blood in his cough now; thick, pale, diseased blood.

By the time the sun rose on the fifth day he had slipped into a stupour from which he did not awaken. He remained like that for the rest of the day, while his breathing steadily worsened until it was barely perceptible. His face was starting to turn blue.

Shruikan groaned softly, deep in his throat. It would not be long now.

He stayed awak that night, holding Galbatorix against his chest and listening to his breathing. It grew slower and slower as the hours went by, and then, around midnight when the moon was high, it finally stopped.

Shruikan nuzzled his chest, desperately calling his name, but he did not move again. Shruikan knew he was dead.

He stayed loyally by him for a long time, until his body slowly went cold and began to stiffen. Then he finally laid his head down and slept, the moonlight shining on his scales and turning them bright silver.

Shruikan woke up at dawn, and wearily raised his head. A glorious gold and orange sunrise was beginning to glow over the land, and the air had the tang of ice in it.

And there was a shape in front of him, at the edge of the tower, silhouetted against the light, its long hair caught and tugged in the wind.

Shruikan started up, confused, but then he realised that there was a presence in his mind – a strong, intelligent and familiar presence, one that quietly took away his fear and his grief and made him sigh – a deep, quiet sigh.

Galbatorix looked around at him, his pale face seeming to glow in the light of dawn, and his voice spoke in Shruikan's head. _'Good morning, Shruikan.'_

A strange calm settled over Shruikan's heart. He came forward and laid his head on the edge of the roost, beside Galbatorix. _'You're alive,'_ he said.

Galbatorix smiled beatifically and laid a hand on Shruikan's snout. _'Yes.'_

'_The sickness-?'_

'_Gone. It's over, Shruikan. I'm all right. My magic cured me.' _He opened his robe, and sure enough the sores were beginning to scab over.

Shruikan sighed. _'You died,'_ he said matter-of-factly. _'I saw you die. You went cold.'_

Galbatorix shivered. _'It's just as Arthryn told me. "I saw you die a hundred deaths, only to rise again like the moon at night".'_ He broke off and suddenly stifled a vicious laugh. _'I'd like to see the Varden try and assassinate me now. Those sons of bitches haven't got a bloody hope in hell.'_

'_It can't work forever, Galbatorix,'_ said Shruikan. _'You must know that. One day it'll stop working. I know it will. And what if they cut off your head? What if you lose a limb? Could you recover from _that?_'_

Galbatorix sobered. _'Yes… I know that, Shruikan. I may be much harder to kill now, but I can still feel pain. The plague…'_ he breathed in deeply. There was still a slight wheeze there, Shruikan noticed.

'_But you're all right now,'_ said the dragon. _'It's all over.'_

Galbatorix nodded. _'It's good to be alive.'_ He chuckled. _'Odd, isn't it? For a long time all I wanted to do was die. But when I caught the plague I was terrified. And now I'm better I feel so… well, I'm happy. And I haven't felt happy in a long time.'_

'_Not since Morzan was here,'_ said Shruikan.

'_Yes…'_ Galbatorix sighed. _'I'm going to have to speak with him in person. Explain myself. I'm sure he'll understand. He won't like it, though. I've been a complete bastard to him, haven't I?'_

'_But it was for his protection,'_ said Shruikan.

'_Yes. I panicked, really. But what would he have done if I'd told him the truth? Poor Morzan. He's so loyal to the people he cares about… and I'm such an ungrateful, lying bastard – I don't deserve his friendship. But he stayed with me after everything I put him through, and knowing I had a contagious disease wouldn't have been enough to turn him away. He would have caught it too. And then what? If he dies I'll be the last rider. The only one left anywhere in the country… gods. No, I'm not sorry. I'd do it again if I had to, just to keep him safe.'_

'_I know you would,'_ said Shruikan. _'And letting him die because of a mistake you made – and against his advice – that would have been a far worse kind of betrayal.'_

Galbatorix nodded. _'Some things are more important than me and the things I want, and Morzan's life is one of them. He would die to protect me. I know that. But if he did… I would never forgive myself.'_ Fear stabbed into him suddenly – deep, cold, awful fear. _'We have to protect him, Shruikan. Even from me.'_

The wine was a rich burgundy colour as it poured into the cup. Morzan waited until it had filled it to the brim and then set the bottle aside. It was a fine vintage from the ancient Redwyne vineyard, but he gulped it down without really noticing the fine boquet or the flavour. He emptied the cup and refilled it without pausing.

Halfway down the bottle, he sighed and relaxed a little, staring at something that lay on the table. _'What the hell am I going to do?'_

Idün's mind was much calmer than his own. _'You're going to be a father. Be happy. What else do you need to do?'_

Morzan signed. His first response to Selena's claim had been surprise – quickly followed by suspicious. After all, what better way would there be for her to benefit than by claiming to be carrying his child? But he had coached her in the ancient language phrases that would state that yes, she was pregnant, and yes he was the father, and the power of the words had revealed that she was telling the truth. She had not slept with another man after he left, or soon enough before he came. And anyway, she had been in the habit of drinking a potion that would prevent her from bearing a child to any of her past lovers and had only lapsed during her time in the cave with Morzan.

The child was his, and whether he liked it or not he was bound to care for it, and its mother.

'_I don't want this,'_ he mumbled. _'Why'd she have to go and follow me here? I didn't promise her anything.'_

Idün sighed. _'You mated with her. Thirteen times. I counted. You're always doing this. You should have realised something like this would happen eventually. And she has no money. She can't afford to raise a child while she's unmarried.'_

'_And now she wants to marry me,'_ said Morzan.

'_Well, why not?'_

'_Are you mad? I can't do that! She's a peasant!'_

'_But you'd have a family. A child of your own to raise… wouldn't that be a good thing?'_

Morzan reached for the wine. He drank another cupfull without replying.

'_Well?'_ Idün persisted.

'_I dunno.'_

'_Let her stay, anyway. You can't turn her away now.'_

Morzan stood up. _'I need to think. Hold on a bit. I'm coming up there.'_

He pulled on a warm cloak and a pair of boots, and strapped Zar'roc to his back. Then he picked up the thing that lay on the table.

It was a sword. A rider's sword, not too dissimilar to his own. But the hilt was silver and its blade was ice-blue. The name engraved on the hilt was "Íssbrandr".

Morzan tucked the weapon beneath Zar'roc on his back and left the room for the dragon roost.

Idün was waiting, and glanced at him while he stapped the saddle on. _'Where are we going?'_

Morzan climbed on. _'Ellesméra.'_

'_Why?'_

'_To check on it. See if the elves are back.'_

'_We shouldn't go there alone,'_ said Idün.

'_S'all right. We won't land, just fly over and have a look from the sky.'_

'_All right then,'_ said Idün. She took off.

The two of them flew away over the lake known as Isenstar. Its dark waters passed beneath them, followed by the wooded gloom of Du Weldenvarden. A fine night. Barely a cloud in the sky. Morzan said nothing during the time it took to get to Ellesméra. Idün knew he was deep in thought, and left him in peace.

When they were over Ellesméra she circled in the sky overhead, making slow, wide sweeps just out of arrow-range while her eyes, perfectly adapted to spot living things over a great distance even at night, scanned the ground for any sign of movement.

'_I don't think there's anyone down there.'_

Morzan stirred. _'You sure?'_

Idün ventured lower. Still nothing, and no scent either. _'Yes.'_

'_Can we land, then? There's something I want to do.'_

Idün considered arguing or asking questions, but gave up and landed neatly on the ground by the Menoa tree. She tensed straight away, half expecting an attack, but none came. The valley was deserted.

Morzan slid off her back and summoned up a magical light. _'Keep watch, would you?'_

Idün nodded and settled down on her haunches, all alert for any sign of danger.

Morzan walked away toward the trunk of the Menoa tree. The ancient plant looked huge in the darkness, its great knotted boughs hanging over his head like reaching fingers. He crouched at a spot close to its trunk and took the two swords from his back, laying them down beside him. Then he spread his hand over the leaf-litter at his feet. '_Jórd, hlutr_.'

Magic glowed over the ground, and a moment later it silently moved – sinking and flowing away to create a wide, deep hole, its edges lined by the twisting roots of the tree.

Morzan took off his cloak and picked up the blue-bladed sword, his eyes darkened in the glow of the magical light. He sighed and wrapped the weapon in the coarse fabric, covering every inch of metal. 'I'll always miss you, mate,' he said softly, and placed the sword in the hole.

He sat there for a little while, staring at it, and then filled in the hole with another spell and stood up, holding Zar'roc in one hand. As he walked away back toward where Idün waited, shivering slightly in the night air, he did not see the dark feline shape that watched him from the branches above, its eyes gleaming green.

Selena gave birth to a healthy boy, with his father's dark hair. Morzan refused to marry her, but he allowed her to move into the castle with him and became her husband in all but name, in spite of the mutterings this provoked from the nobility at large. The commoners, on the other hand, loved it. The idea of a sweet and innocent farmer's daughter capturing the heart of a rider and bearing his child was one straight out of a poem or a song, and Selena quickly became the darling of popular folklore.

Morzan named the child Murtagh, after his own father, and appointed a nurse to look after him. Selena proved much less interested in motherhood than in enjoying her new wealth and privelages – Morzan allowed her access to some of his money, and the castle's servants – and even the nobility – treated her with a fair amont of respect. Lady Selena. That was what people began to call her. It wasn't necessarily a title of honour, and nobody was willing to repeat her other nickname when either she or Morzan was around.

Morzan did not pay much attention to her. It was plain that he did not have any real affection for her, and that his kindness to her so far had been purely dutiful. His behaviour as a father was just as awkward – he made sure that Murtagh was well cared for and visited him from time to time, but these visits were brief and sparodic, and he would spend them standing uncertainly in the doorway to the nursey and asking blurted questions of the nursemaid before beating a hasty retreat.

He spent the rest of his time attending to his duties, watching over Ellesméra and monitoring the situation in Gil'ead. Things gradually improved in the old city, as the months went by. The plague had run its course. There was no more activity from the elves, or from the Varden. Things were slowly returning to normal.

Or close to it.

Morzan continued to wait for word from Urû'baen, but non came. There were letters, to be sure – plenty of them. But nearly all of them were written by Lord Walden or some other, lesser official. Those that came from Galbatorix himself were short and formal, and after a while Morzan began to notice that the King's neat script was beginning to look erratic and disjointed, as if he had been tired or otherwise distracted while writing it. And once a letter came that had a strange dark stain on it – one that looked eerily close to blood.

Perhaps Morzan would have gone to Urû'baen then, to find some answers, but there was one consistent theme in these letters – all of them contained clear and direct orders for him to stay away from the capital city. _Do not come to Urû'baen. _The same command, over and over again.

And, from what he heard from the rest of the Empire, it seemed that he was not the only one who had not seen the King in a while. In fact, as far as he knew, Galbatorix had not left Urû'baen once since his unhappy visit to Gil'ead, months ago.

And that was how it stayed, as a year dragged by, and then another. Morzan did not stay in Gil'ead during that time. He flew to all the other major cities at different times, checking on the smooth running of each of the Empire's provinces on Galbatorix's behalf. Selena and Murtagh – growing well and already showing signs of intelligence – went with him.

And then, at last, in the winter following Murtagh's third birthday, Morzan was informed that there were a group of nobles coming to visit him from Urû'baen.

When he heard the news, he felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. He stood up sharply and nearly grabbed the messenger by the front of his shirt. 'Is the King with them?' he demanded.

'No, my Lord. Not to my knowledge, and I am sure I would have been told.'

Morzan hurried to the window and started out as if expecting to see the delegation approaching already. 'Who is it, then?'

'Uh… the Lords Walden, Simeon and Dirke, my Lord.'

'Walden,' Morzan muttered. The old man would not have left Urû'baen unless it was for something serious. 'How long 'till they get here?'

'A few days, my Lord. A week at most. They sent word ahead from Bullridge.'

It was the longest wait of Morzan's life. He could not concentrate on his duties for most of that week, and spent hours at a time riding on Idün's back as she circled over the city, enjoying a respite from his troubles on the ground.

When at last the three lords arrived, he had them shown into the dining hall and served some wine. But he could not stand to let them relax before getting down to business. 'Walden,' he said, sitting down opposite him. 'What's the news? Why've you come all this way to see me?'

Lord Walden put down his wine and breathed deeply, apparently preparing himself. 'My Lord Morzan, I am sorry if this visit seems at all abrupt. My friends here and I have come to discuss a matter of some… delicacy with you. We debated as to the best course of action to take, and finally decided that the best thing would be to turn to you.'

'What is it?' said Morzan. 'Is it the King? Did he send you?'

'No, my Lord. He did not. We have come here under a different pretext. May I…' he glanced at the door. 'Forgive me, my Lord, but I would prefer to be certain that we are not being observed.'

Morzan got up and checked the corridor outside. There was no-one around, so he magically sealed the doors and then returned to the table. 'We're safe. Now tell me what this is all about. But first… how's the King?'

Walden looked grim. 'It is the King we have come to talk to you about, my Lord.'

'Why?' said Morzan. 'He's not sick or something, is he? Was he all right the last time you saw him?'

'My Lord Morzan… I have not seen the King in over six months.'

Morzan sat bolt upright. 'What? What d'you mean you haven't seen him?'

'To my knowledge, no-one has seen the King in months,' said Walden.

'Why? Where's he gone?'

'This is a state secret,' said the Lord Dirke. 'We have been expressly forbidden, by the King himself, to to speak of it with anyone else. Even you, my Lord. However…'

'We think it best,' said Lord Walden.

'Why?' said Morzan.

'The King has begun to act… erratically,' Lord Simeon said, choosing his words with care. 'Until now we thought it would be safe to keep it a secret, but now…'

Morzan's stomach churned. 'What d'you mean "erratically"? what's he done?'

'It began three years ago, by my guess,' said Lord Walden, casting a warning glance at his two friends. 'Shortly after you left, my Lord. No, immediately after you left, in fact – the King locked himself in his room, as he did after Lord Vander's death. At first he took the food left for him and continued to issue commands, but then he suddenly stopped. No-one saw or heard from him for several days, but then he suddenly re-emerged and acted as if nothing had happened. He said nothing about it, and resumed life as normal for a few days, and then…'

'…And then?' Morzan pressed.

'No-one is entirely sure what happened or why, my Lord,' said Walden. 'One moment the King was completely normal, and then… it was as if something had suddenly snapped inside him. One day, out of the blue, he ordered for the entire Northern wing of the castle to be evacuated. He gave me a list of orders and new rules to be followed. No-one was to enter that part of the castle any more, for any reason. Speaking of it to anyone outside the castle was forbidden. Everyone had to act as normal, and no-one outside Urû'baen was to be informed – particularly you, my Lord. He emphasised that part a great deal. Anyone who came to visit the King was to be turned away, without exception. Even if it was you. And after that the King went into the empty part of the castle and barricaded himself in. He would not come out, not even to eat. Food and reports had to be passed to him through a hatch, and he issued all his commands in writing. He would not even speak to anyone face-to-face.'

Morzan had gone rigid. '_What?_ That's not – for the gods' sakes, why wasn't I told?'

'Because the King constantly insisted that you be kept in the dark about it, my Lord,' said Simeon. 'And for a long time we thought it would be all right. The King was still ruling as effectively as before – though he never left the castle – and he was taking his food.'

'And he came out every now and then,' said Walden. 'He acted quite normally during that time, and several times I thoguht he was going back to normal, but he always returned to the empty quarter after a few days. And I noticed… when I saw him the last few times, he did not look well. He has been growing thinner and paler, and there is a look about him…'

'I saw a man executed once,' Lord Dirke said darkly. 'And I never forgot the look in his eyes as the axe was raised. The last time I saw the King, he had that very same look. I only saw it for a moment, but it was there. And I asked him if he was all right, and…' the old Lord's face was full of bewildered fear. 'He laughed. Just laughed and turned away. It was the worst laugh I ever heard in my life. And then he went back in and locked himself away again, and nobody has seen him since.'

'So you've no idea why?' said Morzan.

'Very little, my Lord,' said Walden. 'At first we thought that the King's behaviour was paranoia – an extreme response to the Varden assassins that some believe are still hiding in the city. But there have been other things. Signs.'

Morzan shook his head. 'He's not a coward. He wouldn't hide. What signs?'

'Just talk, my Lord. Rumours. But the servants say they have heard things coming from inside the empty quarter. Mutterings. Ravings. Even screams. He sounded perfectly rational the last time I spoke to him, but that was three months ago, through a door. My friends and I have decided that we cannot remain idle any longer. Something had to be done, and we hoped that you could help us. Because…' he stopped and breathed in deeply. 'To be perfectly frank with you, my Lord, we fear that the King has gone insane.'


	19. The Empty Quarter

Chapter Nineteen

The Empty Quarter

'_I don't believe it,'_ said Morzan. He was pacing back and forth on the dragon roost, Zar'roc strapped to his back, while a group of servants attached his bags to Idün's saddle. _'I won't believe it.'_

Idün shifted uncomfortable. _'I don't believe it either. But…'_

'_No buts!'_ Morzan stopped abruptly. _'He _hasn't_ gone mad. He can't. He wouldn't. Never.' _

'_But why…?'_

'_I dunno. But we're gonna find out.'_

He scowled as the trapdoor opened again and Selena emerged, carrying Murtagh and followed by a group of servants carrying her bags.

'Damn it, woman, I told you no.'

Selena smoothed out her skirts and set Murtagh down beside her. 'I only want to help you, my Lord Morzan,' she said. 'And besides, I want to see the city.'

'What the hell for?' said Morzan.

'I have heard it is a beautiful place. And I would like to meet the King.'

'Well I don't think he'd want to meet you,' said Morzan, quite rudely.

Selena took Murtagh's hand. 'I think he would like to meet the son of his oldest friend,' she said coldly.

Morzan's face softened a little. 'Well all right, come if you really want to. But I don't know what sort of welcome we'll get.'

Selena smiled. 'A royal one.'

The three of them made the journey to Urû'baen on Idün's back, leaving Lord Walden to take the slower route on the ground, and reached their destination without incident.

From above the city looked unchanged. So did the castle. Shruikan was up on the dragon roost as before, but when Idün landed by him Morzan was quick to notice that the roost had not been cleaned in some time. Heaps of old dung had been left to dry in the sun, and gnawed bones and old scales were scattered over the stonework. The dirty stone was marred by deep scratch-marks, and the trapdoor was tightly closed and crusted over with muck. Clearly, it had not been opened in a long time.

Shruikan was crouched on the edge of the roost, shoulders hunched. He looked thin and listless, his scales rough, and when he looked up at them his eyes were dull.

Morzan got down off Idün's back and helped Selena and Murtagh after him. Selena was looking around with a slightly shocked expression, holding Murtagh to her chest, and Morzan pushed her toward the trapdoor. 'Stay there.'

He approached Shruikan, moving slowly and cautiously in case the dragon turned aggressive. But Shruikan came toward Idün almost eagerly, and rubbed his head against her underjaw, whining softly.

Morzan dared to reach out to him with his mind, and Shruikan let him in almost instantly, and the moment their minds touched Morzan felt a flood of fear and distress. _'Shruikan?'_

Shruikan's mental voice was low and urgent. _'Morzan. Thank the sea and the sky you've come. I don't know what to do.'_

Morzan touched Shruikan's flank. The dragon was trembling. _'What's wrong? What's wrong with him?'_

'_He doesn't want you here,'_ said Shruikan. _'He told me to drive you away if you came. I can't. I won't. Help him, Morzan. For gods' sakes, help him. It can't go on. It's driving him insane.'_

'_But what-?'_

'_Go!' _Shruikan almost roared. _'Go to him, now! Find him. Help him. Don't let him send you away again. I can't-,'_ pain suddenly jumped across their mental link.

Morzan gasped and clutched at his chest. His lungs felt as if they were on fire, and he gagged on the sensation until Shruikan suddenly withdrew and it vanished.

Morzan shuddered. 'What-?'

Shruikan pulled away from him, retreating back to his corner and huddling down, covering his head with his wings. Idün moved toward him and settled down by his side, ignoring the mess, pressing her body against his and laying her head over his neck.

'_Go,'_ she told Morzan. _'Find Galbatorix, fast.'_

Morzan almost ran toward the trapdoor. Selena was waiting beside it with Murtagh, who was starting to fuss. 'Morzan, what's going on?'

'I dunno. Get out of the way.'

Once Selena had moved, Morzan spread his hand over the trapdoor. '_Opnask sási dyrr_.'

It took a lot of effort. The door was saturated with Galbatorix's own magic, which actively resisted Morzan's spell and continued to try and hold the door shut. Morzan continued to feed his energy into it, scowling in concentration until the trapdoor made an ominous cracking sound and opened with a grinding of rusty hinges.

Morzan sighed and peered down into the darkness. There was no sign of movement, and the air that wafted out smelt stale and musty.

He took in a deep breath. 'All right. Let's go.' He climbed down the ladder without waiting for a reply.

Selena followed, and passed Murtagh to him when she was partway down the ladder. Morzan set the child down and waited until she had joined him.

Selena looked around at the gloomy space at the top of the stairs. 'Why is it so dark in here? Where is everyone?'

The door to Galbatorix's bedroom was ajar. Morzan summoned up a magical light and went in. The room beyond was deserted. Galbatorix's hammock was still there, and looked as if it had been slept in, but the rest of the room was a dusty mess.

A black fire was burning beside the desk, which was covered in papers. White Violence was hanging on the wall by the mirror and the row of fairths, and there was a discarded robe on the back of the chair. A pair of hairbrushes and a comb lay on the desk among the quills and bottles of ink, their teeth and bristles tangled with loose hairs, and beside them was a roll of clean bandages and what appeared to be a jar of lotion.

Selena wandered over to the hammock and touched the rough fabric, making it swing gently. 'This is where the King sleeps?'

Morzan nodded distractedly. 'He's always slept in a hammock. Ever since we first met. He says he can't get comfortable in a proper bed.'

'But it's so plain!' said Selena. 'Your bedroom is a hundred times grander than this, and he's the _King.'_

'He hates that sort of thing,' said Morzan. 'Always has. I've seen him shudder when people gave him stuff like golden hairbrushes and velvet robes. He just gives it away instead of using it.' He chewed his finger. 'Where the hell is he?'

He examined the papers on the desk. Most of them looked like official documents of one sort or another, but they had been shuffled aside to make room for a large book. It was open partway through, and Galbatorix's handwriting had filled one page and stopped halfway down the next. Morzan flipped back to the first page.

_From White To Black: The True And Complete Account of the Life of King Galbatorix Taranisäii-Traeganni._

_The boy who would grow to be King Galbatorix Taranisäii was born in the City of Teirm on about the Day of the Seventh Hatching, in the eight hundred and eighty-seventh year of the Riders' rule, though some claim erroneously that his birthplace was the now defunct province of Inzelbêth. He was born to the unwedded Lady Ingë Taranisäii, by her slave, the dark elvish noble Skandar Traeganni, making him both a bastard and a half-breed – a fact that was to haunt him for the rest of his life. His parents were executed on the day following his birth on the orders of Elder Menulis of Osilon, acting on behalf of Lord Vrael, master of the riders, for having violated the law forbidding elf and human to interbreed. Their half-breed son was given to foster parents, who raised him under the name of Arren Cardockson and kept him ignorant of his true heritage. The future King's first occupation was that of a leatherworker, and he discovered a gift for persuasion while working at his adopted father's stall – something that would one day serve him well…_

Morzan stopped reading and closed the book. 'We've got to find him. Just wait a moment…'

He crossed the room to where the chest stood, and opened it.

'What are you doing?' said Selena.

'Just checking for something,' Morzan said briefly. He rummaged through the chest, and then pulled out a large piece of flat wood. He put it aside and reached into the chest again. This time his hands re-emerged holding something wrapped in cloth.

'What's that?' said Selena. Morzan pulled off the wrappings, and she caught her breath. 'It's _beautiful!_'

It was a huge blue stone, perfectly oval in shape, its surface smooth – almost polished – chased with white veins.

Selena came closer. 'Can I touch it?'

Morzan started to wrap the stone up again. 'No.'

'What is it? Is it a sapphire?'

'It's a treasure,' Morzan said briefly, putting the bundle back into the chest and replacing the false bottom. He closed the chest and stood up. 'Right. We've got to go find the King. You stick close to me, and keep an eye on Murtagh. Where is he?'

Selena looked around, and froze. Murtagh was nowhere to be seen.

Morzan hurried to the door and looked through it, but he wasn't there. 'Damn it, woman, can't you keep track of him?'

'He was here a moment ago!' said Selena. 'I swear, he was right there by the desk…'

'Come on,' said Morzan. 'We've got to find him. Can't let him wander around here on his own.'

In fact Murtagh was quite enjoying himself. He'd gone down the stairs and at the bottom of them he'd found a strange new place, which he was now exploring.

It was gloomy, and the air smelt funny, but he didn't mind. He pottered along down one corridor and through a room full of books. One was lying on the floor, its pages fluttering, and he stopped to have a look at it. He liked the way the pages moved. It was like they were waving at him. He grabbed hold of one and watched it with fascination as it continued to move, as if it were trying to escape.

But he was distracted from this new game by a strange noise to his left. He looked up curiously, and heard it again. Forgetting the book, he got up and wandered off toward it. There were other rooms up ahead; he passed through one with a big table that smelled like Idün's saddle.

Murtagh could hear the deep voice of his father calling him, but he ignored it and walked on, intent on finding the thing he'd heard. He left the leather-smelling room and wound up in another corridor.

There was a man there, leaning against the wall. He was making a strange noise; a sort of rasping. He had long black hair and wore a strange outfit, like a long cloak with sleeves.

Murtagh stepped closer, intrigued. The man wasn't wearing any shoes, and his feet looked odd. They were long and narrow, sprinkled with hair, and had long, strong-looking toes, as if they could grip things like hands.

Murtagh touched the man's leg, prodding it experimentally. It was warm and real.

The man turned around very fast and then backed away, staring at him. He had a white face with a pointy nose and mean, scary eyes, but he had a funny little beard as well.

'Hello,' Murtagh said boldly.

The man stopped moving and looked at him. 'Are you real?' he said. His voice was rough and scratchy, as if he had been crying.

Murtagh giggled. 'You're funny.'

The man reached out toward him as if he was going to touch him, but pulled away before he did. His eyes went wide, and he started to look scared. 'How did you get in here?'

Murtagh pointed at the corridor. 'I came from there.'

'Is anyone else with you?'

Murtagh nodded. 'Ma's here. And Da.'

The man put a hand on his chest, like it was hurting. 'Can you show me where they are?'

Murtagh nodded again. 'Da's big and strong,' he said irrelevantly, and led his new friend back the way he had come.

The man followed him very slowly. 'What's your name?' he asked.

'I'm Murtagh,' said Murtagh. 'What's yours?' he added.

'My name's Galbatorix,' said the man.

Murtagh tried to say the name, but it wouldn't come right. 'Galricks?' he hazarded.

The man laughed, and then coughed. 'If you say so, Murty.'

Murtagh stopped in the middle of the room with the books, and gave him a reproachful stare. '_Murtagh_,' he said.

'Murtagh?' it was his mother's voice. She came in through the other door and then stopped, staring at the man. 'Murtagh!' she said again, more sharply. 'Murtagh, come here!'

Murtagh went to her, and she scooped him up in her arms.

Galbatorix started forward. 'Who are you? What are you doing-?'

And then Morzan appeared behind Selena. He saw Galbatorix and started. 'Sire!'

Galbatorix stared at him for several seconds. Morzan saw shock go across his face, and then, a second later, fear. 'No!' he exclaimed, backing away. 'I told you not to come!'

Morzan came toward him. 'For gods' sakes, Sire-,'

Galbatorix pointed at the door. 'Get out!' he shouted. 'Get out of here!'

But Morzan could see the terror in his eyes. 'It's all right, Sire,' he said. 'You're safe. I'm' not here to hurt you, I just want to help-,' he reached out to take hold of Galbatorix's arm.

Galbatorix pulled away. 'Stay away from me!' he yelled, and ran out of the room.

Morzan swore. He turned to Selena and Murtagh. 'Get him out of here,' he said. 'Find a room and stay there until I come.'

With that, he ran away after Galbatorix as fast as he could.

There was only one direction to take, through several corridors and then into a room which had once been used to store old books that needed repairing. Now the table was strewn with scraps of leather and an array of tools – awls, knives, vices and a wooden last. And, lined up neatly against one wall, was a row of newly-made boots.

Morzan entered in time to see Galbatorix's robe slip through the door at the far end, and ran after him, down a flight of stairs and into a disused store-room.

And there the trail ended. There were no other doors leading in. No way Galbatorix could have got out. But there was no sign of anyone in the room. Only shadows.

Morzan stood in the doorway, bewildered. 'Sir?' he said. 'Galbatorix? Where are you?'

No reply. But a few moments later he realised he could hear low, rasping breathing.

'Sir?' he said again. 'Please, come out. I just want to help you.'

Galbatorix's voice spoke from somewhere to his left, from the depths of a shadow. 'Go, Morzan. Leave. Please, just go. I'm begging you.'

Morzan turned sharply. No-one there. 'Sir, just tell me what's wrong.'

Galbatorix's voice was low and hopeless. 'You can't. No-one can. The only thing you can do to help me is leave me.'

This time the voice was coming from Morzan's right. He lurched in that direction, and almost immediately felt movement behind him. He turned to see Galbatorix duck through the door and vanish. Cursing, Morzan went in pursuit.

This time, though, Galbatorix did not vanish. Morzan could see him up ahead as he ran. He was moving more slowly now, staggering slightly. Morzan could hear him gasping for breath.

When he reached the library again he found him on the floor, collapsed half-in and half-out of the opposite doorway and trying pathetically to get up. When Morzan knelt beside him he tried to drag himself away, moaning. 'No. Morzan, no. Don't…'

Morzan touched his shoulder, and felt the King's thin body trembling. 'It's all right, sir,' he said. 'I've got you. I'll look after you.'

Galbatorix did not reply. He had fainted.

Morzan lifted him easily and carried him out of the library and back up to his room, where he laid him down in his hammock and covered him with a blanket.

Galbatorix's bones were jutting through his skin, and his hair was lank. His face was deathly pale, beaded with sweat, his eyes shadowed. He lay very still, mouth slightly open, his hands clutching at nothing. Morzan knelt by the hammock and went over him for injuries. He found none apart from a few bruises and a painful-looking graze on his temple. But he was thin and undernourished, and his skin was burning hot to the touch. Although he did not wake up under the examination, his face creased and he pawed feebly at Morzan's hands, muttering in protest.

Morzan gently pushed his arms back to his sides and undid the fastenings on his robe, pulling it open to expose his chest. 'What the-?'

Galbatorix's chest was wrapped tightly in bandages – at least two layers of them, covering his entire torso. More covered his shoulders, and his arms down to the elbows. And, in patches over his chest and shoulders, the bandages were dark with blood.

Morzan started to feel sick to his stomach. 'What in the gods' names have you done to yourself?' he breathed.

Galbatorix did not reply, and Morzan steeled himself and began to pull at the bandages. He felt cruel, as if he were in some way betraying his friend, but he knew he had to do it. If Galbatorix was hurt, then his injuries had to be attended to properly.

The response from the King was instant and violent. The moment Morzan touched the bandages, he screamed and jerked upright. The motion was so sudden that Morzan yelled and fell over backward, and Galbatorix tumbled out of the hammock and onto the floor. Before Morzan had a moment to recover he had scrambled away from him, shockingly fast, as if trying to escape from a terrifying enemy. Morzan managed to get up, and came after him yet again. 'Sir! Calm down! It's just me!'

Galbatorix ignored him. He dived behind the cupboard, trying to hide on the far side of it, and huddled down there, shouting; 'Go away! I order you to go away!'

Morzan stood still, staring at the cupboard. 'Why? For gods' sakes, sir, what are you so frightened of?'

Silence, and then he heard a strange sound coming from behind the cupboard. Cold despair gripped him when he realised what it was.

Galbatorix was crying. 'I t- I told you not to come,' he said, his voice shaking and broken with sobs. 'I _told_ you. Why'd you have to – go and – do that? Can't – you just leave – me alone? I only wanted… can't you just go away? Oh gods help me, gods…' his words ran out and he wept brokenly; terrible hopeless weeping, such as Morzan had never heard from him before. He was not trying to control himself now, was not embarrassed or trying to be strong. This was the sobbing of a man who had gone beyond the last of his strength and so beyond everything else – even dignity.

'Oh gods,' Morzan whispered. 'It's true. It's really true. I've lost you.'

Galbatorix laughed dementedly. 'Who cares? Who misses me? Who gives a damn about the Great Betrayer? Are they happy, Morzan? Do the people celebrate? Are they ringing the bells in Dras-Leona because the tyrant is gone?' He giggled; a crazed, joyless sound that had more agony in it than a scream. 'Do they know how much we suffered for them, Morzan? D'you think they know we gave them our lives?' he laughed again, and then sobbed. 'I shouldn't've… I should, I sh- I should never have been born, Morzan. He was right. Vrael. When he said they should have killed me in the cradle. When he said some things should never come into being. He was right about me. He was right. He was always right.' He repeated it, over and over again, in a low, feverish mutter. 'They're waiting, you know,' he added suddenly. 'Out there. All of them. Just waiting. For when a hero comes. Some young fool, to put me out of my misery. Some boy with a sword, to kill the Mad King and set the people free.' His voice became low, and dark, and cold. 'And they'll laugh then. Oh yes. They'll laugh, and cheer for him. Just as they did when I showed them Vrael's head and told them they were free. They'll laugh and celebrate and tell the story of how evil was destroyed. "Come and see the place where they buried the Mad King. Come see him, so you know he's dead". And they'll come then, won't they, Morzan? They'll love me then, when I'm dead. They'll see me dead and laugh. No-one will cry. No-one. Not for me. Not ever. Not for me. They'll spit on my grave. Dig up my body and tear it up for trophies. I'll be dead and they'll laugh.'

Silence. Deep, dark, awful silence.

'And I'm glad,' Galbatorix added in a whisper. 'I'm glad.'

Morzan realised that there were tears on his face. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. 'I'll leave you alone,' he managed. 'I'll come back… later. When you're better.'

He stumbled out of the room with Galbatorix's words still ringing in his ears. So calm. So matter-of-fact. As if he were not expressing something he feared, but simply stating how the future would be. Morzan imagined him huddled in the corner behind the cupboard, cutting open the veins in his wrists, knowing it would never set him free. He tried to picture what he might have done to his chest before he covered it in bandages. Trying to punish himself. Trying to bleed away his guilt.

Morzan staggered to the bottom of the stairs and came to rest against the far wall. He leaned on it and covered his face with his hands. 'Oh gods, oh gods…'

Idün had sensed his distress. _'What is it? How is he?'_

'_He's insane,'_ Morzan whispered. _'They were right, Idün. They were right. He's lost his mind.'_

Idün's response was one of deep dismay. _'Are you sure?'_

Morzan sent her a mental imagine of Galbatorix's sunken, wild-eyed face. _'It was horrible. He was demented. Scared out of his wits. Wouldn't let me near him. He's been starving himself in here. And I think he's been hurting himself as well. Oh gods…'_

This was it, he realised dully, as he went to find Selena and Murtagh. He continued to think it as he escorted them out of the closed-off part of the castle, undoing the spell that had sealed one of the doors and removing the heap of furniture that had been piled up to block it even further.

It was all over. Finished. The others were gone. He had lost the last of his friends forever, not to death but to madness, and that was the worse fate. Galbatorix would end his life not as the great-hearted and selflessly brave man Morzan had once known, but as the pitiful wreck he had become. And that was how he would be remembered. Not as the leader who had done so much for Alagaësia, not as the brilliant visionary, the tactical genius or the compassionate master who believed himself to be a servant to an ungrateful populace… no. To history he would be the Mad King, always and forever.

_And me?_ Morzan thought. _What about me? Who will I be?_

He would be what he was now – the King's strong right arm. And an arm was all muscle, without a mind of its own. That was how people would think of him. He would be Morzan the fool, first and foremost of the circle of traitors, the first to break his vows, the first to give his loyalty to the Great Betrayer, and after that become the brutal enforcer of the King's insane will; his brutish unthinking puppet. And, he realised with cold certainty, if no-one mourned at Galbatorix's tomb then no-one would mourn at his either. Maybe they would laugh.

He remembered the despair in Galbatorix's voice.

A guest room had been prepared for Selena, and Morzan accompanied her to the door with Murtagh toddling beside them. 'Here,' he said, while the servants carried her bags in. 'You'll get everything you need. And maybe we can have lunch together later.'

Selena was looking a little shaken. 'Will the King be joining us?' she ventured.

Morzan sighed. 'Maybe. We'll see.' He grabbed her arm as she began to turn away. 'You're not to tell anyone anything about what you saw in there, all right? Ever.'

Selena clasped his hand. 'I understand, my Lord. I won't breathe a word.'

Morzan let go of her. 'Good. I'll…' he paused. 'I'll take Murtagh with me, if that's okay.'

'By all means,' said Selena, sounding slightly surprised. 'Murtagh, go with your father.'

Murtagh took hold of his father's big hand, though his own hand was only just large enough to clasp the forefinger. Morzan looked down at him. Murtagh looked back calmly, and Morzan smiled suddenly and lifted him into his arms. 'C'mon, you. Let's go.'


	20. The Breaking

Chapter Twenty

The Breaking

Morzan carried Murtagh in the crook of one arm, and the boy clung onto his father's tunic as the pair of them returned to the locked part of the castle, past the guards that had been posted to keep people away from its boundaries and who let them through only reluctantly.

Murtagh, of course, had no idea of the situation. 'We gonna go see Idün?' he asked. He had no fear of the red dragon, and loved riding on her back.

'Not right now,' said Morzan.

'We gonna chase the funny man again?' Murtagh suggested. 'He's funny. He said he was called Galricks. He's got funny feet.'

Morzan signed. 'He's the King. We're gonna go see the King.'

'Is he wicked?' said Murtagh. 'Ma said the King was a wicked man. She said he kills people if they say so.'

'Your ma's an idiot,' Morzan said, more harshly than he needed to. 'The King is a great man, and if you ever say something like that about him I'll smack you in the head.'

'All right,' Murtagh said solemnly. He was silent for a time, while Morzan checked the rooms they passed, and then suddenly said; 'I wanna see him again. He's funny.'

Morzan chuckled in spite of himself. 'He can be funny when he wants to be. I've known him a hundred years, you know. He's my oldest friend. I remember once he…' he trailed off as he began to climb the stairs to the top of the tower.

The door to Galbatorix's room was shut. Morzan tried the handle, and found it locked. He thumped on the solid wood. 'Sir? It's Morzan. Let me in.'

Galbatorix's voice was muffled by the door. 'Go. Away.'

'No, sir. I'm not leaving until you let me in.'

He heard a faint scrape of steel from the other side of the door. 'If you come in here, I'll kill you,' Galbatorix rasped.

Morzan's free hand clenched. 'Stop it!'

'I mean it,' Galbatorix rapped out, suddenly sounding like a leader again. 'If you don't leave I will kill you myself.'

'You wouldn't,' said Morzan.

Galbatorix laughed horribly. 'Wouldn't I? I killed all the other riders, didn't I? What's one more? Maybe you should stick around just to see if I'll finish the job.'

Morzan couldn't bear it any longer. He put Murtagh down. 'Stay there, all right? Just hold onto the ladder.'

Murtagh obeyed, and watched in fascination as Morzan drew Zar'roc and flexed his arms and shoulders to loosen them. 'Can I come?'

'No. You stay here. Your Da's gonna do what he does best.'

He paused a moment, balancing himself, ignoring Galbatorix's continued threats, and then rammed his full weight into the door. The impact made his vision flash red for a moment, but the door made a loud splintering sound and started to buckle inward. Morzan paused to recover himself and then slammed his shoulder against the barrier again. This time the splintering gave way to a loud crack and a thud, and the door fell in.

Morzan entered cautiously, ready to defend himself if he had do. Galbatorix was standing well back from the door, holding White Violence in both hands. He was pale and sweating, but he stepped forward at once, swinging the sword in a wild sideways blow aimed at Morzan's leg. Morzan backed away swiftly, raising Zar'roc to deflect it, but Galbatorix's attack was slow and clumsy, and the weight of the sword dragged him off balance. He tottered sideways, mouthing dark elvish curses, but recovered and made another attempt. The sword fell out of his fingers and clanged onto the floor by Morzan's feet.

Galbatorix stared at it with a defeated expression. 'Damn.'

Morzan picked up the white sword and put it down on the desk. He transferred Zar'roc to his left hand and raised his right, palm-forward. 'Stop it,' he snapped. 'Stop it this minute or I swear to gods I'll paralyse you.'

Galbatorix's eyes narrowed. He raised his own right hand, which began to glow with dark energy. 'You think you can fight me?'

Morzan's heart pounded sickeningly. 'Sir…'

'_Brisingr!_' Galbatorix yelled.

'_Hlíf!_' Morzan countered. The shielding spell rose up around him at once, glowing red.

But nothing hit it. Morzan blinked, confused, and saw Galbatorix wince and clutch at his head with his free hand. The other was still outlined with black magic, which was pulsating strangely. Then the light faded.

Galbatorix pointed at him. 'I'll break into your mind!' he said wildly. 'I'll force you to leave. I'll – I'll-,'

Morzan snapped. He threw Zar'roc down and strode forward. Galbatorix tried to back away, but Morzan came on until he had him cornered. Galbatorix raised his hands, trying to fend him off. 'No! Don't touch me! You don't understand, I've got-,'

Morzan ignored him. He grabbed him by the front of his robe and dragged him forward, then began to shake him violently. '_STOP IT!_ For gods' sakes, snap out of it!'

Galbatorix struggled. 'No! Let go, you idiot! It's contagious!'

Morzan barely heard him. He slapped him in the face, hard, several times. 'Stop it! Stop it! Don't you do this to me, you son of a bitch!'

Galbatorix jerked under each blow, yelping, but Morzan only shook him more violently and continued to yell at him. 'You bastard! You lousy bastard! You can't do this!'

'Morzan – you're – hurting – me-!'

Morzan still wasn't listening. 'I came here to _help_ you! I – only – wanted – to help! And you try and chase me away, you lying half-breed bastard! You go and…' his voice faltered suddenly as his anger slid into despair, and he realised he had been shaking him so hard that his robe had begun to tear. Galbatorix hung limply from his grasp, groaning. One of his eyes was starting to swell, and Morzan let go of him, aghast. 'Oh gods, I'm sorry…'

Galbatorix staggered away from him and collapsed against the wall. And then, half-kneeling with one hand pressed into his chest, he vomited.

The last of Morzan's anger evaporated. 'You're sick,' he said blankly. 'You're…'

Galbatorix coughed and retched again. 'M-Morzan, I can't – I should've – I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I w – I wanted to k… keep you safe, that's all, I swear, I just…' he continued to cough horribly, his back heaving. 'Oh gods, let me die. Please just let me die, I can't stand it any more, I can't…'

Morzan knelt by his friend and tried to support him. 'It's okay. It's all right. Just calm down. I'll help you. Just tell me what's wrong.'

Galbatorix sighed a shuddering sigh, and relaxed as the last of his resistance finally left him. 'I've got the plague,' he mumbled.

Horror closed in on Morzan's heart. 'No!'

Galbatorix closed his eyes. 'I'm sorry. I had to send you away. I did everything to stop you from coming back. Let go of me, Morzan. Just let go, before it's too late.'

Morzan let go and backed away. 'Why in the gods' names didn't you tell me?'

Galbatorix pulled himself upright on the wall, his motions pathetically slow and weak. 'Because I'm a bastard,' he said bitterly. 'Hit me again if you like, but I'm not sorry. You're too loyal, Morzan. I didn't want to hurt you, but I had to.'

'But I could have helped you.'

'No you couldn't,' said Galbatorix. 'And you still can't. I could have told you, but what would've been the point? I thought I'd be dead in a few days… that was three years ago. I can't die, Morzan. I can't die, but I can't get better. I have to… stay here. Alone.'

'So you locked yourself away for three years?' said Morzan. 'You never told anyone?'

Fear darted across Galbatorix's face. 'They can't know. No-one can know. They have to believe I'm still strong. What if people knew?' his expression twisted. 'Gods, if people knew… if anyone knew that the Riders' Bane can't lift his own sword any more…' he sighed and sat down with his back to the wall, trying absent-mindedly to clean the muck out of his beard. 'They must see me as I used to be, not as I've become,' he said simply.

'Everyone thinks you've gone mad,' said Morzan.

'They thought that already. No… I'm the Stupid King, not the Mad King. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry for how I acted before. I hadn't seen anyone face to face in months. I think I've gone a bit peculiar, to tell you the truth,' he added.

'You should have told me,' said Morzan. 'You should have told me the truth. You owed it to me.'

'No. What I owe you can never be repaid,' said Galbatorix. 'And your… your life is too valuable to be wasted on my account. You are the last true rider. The first and greatest of the Forsworn, and the first and greatest of my friends. No. I won't let you die, Morzan. I would die rather than let that happen.'

Morzan shook his head. 'No. I don't matter. And I'm not valuable. I'm just a used-up old fool with a pickled liver and a lump of muscle for a brain. You're the one, sir, not me.'

'My life is worthless now,' said Galbatorix. 'I have no strength left, and I know it. But you, Morzan… I have something to give you. The only gift I can offer. I was… I have been debating whether to send it to you. The time never seemed right. But now it is.'

'What is it, sir?'

'On – on the desk,' said Galbatorix, clutching at his throat as he spoke. 'The box.'

Morzan crossed the room and picked it up. It was small and carved from white wood, inlaid with silver. 'It's Roland's old medicine box,' he said.

'Yes. Open it.'

Morzan did. Inside there was a scroll of paper, sealed with Galbatorix's emblem. He broke it and unfurled the paper.

'"…I, King Galbatorix Taranisäii-Traeganni, Lord of the Riders and anointed ruler of Alagaësia, hereby appoint…"' he trailed off, and glanced down at the box. Lying in the bottom, on the white velvet, was the crown. 'No. Oh holy gods, no.'

'Yes,' Galbatorix rasped from the wall. 'I have made my decision. My will is written. The Empire is yours.'

'After you die, sir, but-,'

'No. Now.'

'But _you're_-,'

'I cannot rule here any more,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm all used up. But you… you are strong. Stronger than me. Kinder. You must take my place. Look after my Empire for me, Morzan.'

'I can't.'

'You must. The Empire deserves better than me. Please, Morzan. Take the crown. For my sake, if not for the sake of the people. I can't go on like this. I have to get away. Find somewhere else to live, where I can look after myself properly. Somewhere isolated, where I won't infect anyone. Where I can rest.'

'I can't rule here!' said Morzan. 'Me, King of Alagaësia? You must be – it's just not possible, sir. I was made to follow, not lead. You can go on ruling, sir. I can help you. Stay here and look after you, 'till you get better…'

Galbatorix began to cough again. 'You _can't._ I won't "get better", Morzan. I've been like this for three years. And I'll stay like this forever, unless someone finds a cure. If you stay with me, you'll die. Sooner or later, you'll die. The choice… the choice…' he started to unfasten his robe, and fumbled with the bandages underneath. 'The choice is simple. The throne of Alagaësia, or _this.'_ He pulled the bandages apart, exposing the sores beneath – deep, oozing, vile-smelling sores. 'You want this?' he demanded, suddenly close to anger. 'You want these? You want the plague? Want to f – to feel like your lungs are tearing open every time you breathe? You want to _die?'_

Morzan went pale. 'Oh gods. It's really real.'

Galbatorix pulled the bandages back into place, wincing. 'Of course it's real. D'you think I'd make something like this up? No, the plague is real, and it is a living death. You would die raving. Just like me.'

'But-,'

'No buts. No excuses. Just this. Take the crown, Morzan. The Empire is the only good thing I ever made. Keep it safe for me. Please.'

'I… I have to think about it,' said Morzan.

Galbatorix nodded vaguely. 'Think, then. When you have an answer for me, come and see me.'

Morzan hesitated. 'I'm… I'm gonna go have lunch. D'you want to come with me?'

'Sorry, but no. I can't eat much any more, and anyway…' he looked toward the doorway, where a bored Murtagh had come to see what was going on. 'Is that your son?'

Morzan went to pick him up. 'Yeah. Murtagh, this is King Galbatorix.'

Murtagh giggled and reached toward him. 'Galricks!'

Galbatorix smiled slightly. 'He looks like you. I'm glad for you, Morzan. You deserved to have a family.'

'I didn't plan for it,' said Morzan. 'It just kind of… well, I met up with this peasant girl in Carvahall, see, and… well, I got her pregnant. She was with me before.'

'Oh yes. I remember. Isn't she a bit young?'

Morzan shrugged. 'She was willing. Look… is there anything I can do for you, sir? I could heal those sores, maybe…'

'Don't worry; I can deal with it myself. The salve helps.' Galbatorix stared at the floor, his air strangely defeated. 'I'll… see you later, then.'

Morzan picked up Zar'roc. 'Cheer up, sir. It'll get better.'

Galbatorix glanced up at him, a hint of the old gleam back in his eyes. 'Yes. It will, Sire. It will.'

Morzan and Selena ate lunch together in the dining hall, while Murtagh played nearby. It was a subdued affair; Selena made a few attempts at conversation but eventually gave up when she realised that Morzan wasn't interested. Morzan said very little but drank a great deal. Selena was used to this and made no comment.

'Selena?'

She looked up. 'Yes, my Lord?'

'Would you care if I died?' Morzan asked suddenly.

'Why would you ask that, my Lord?'

'Just tell me. Would you be upset?'

'Of course I would, my Lord,' said Selena. 'Why would you need to ask?'

Morzan didn't answer.

Selena poured herself some wine and drank it, a little resentfully.

'Did you see the King?' she asked.

Morzan paused in the act of tilting his cup to his mouth. 'Yeh.'

'How was he?'

'He's fine,' said Morzan. 'Just a bit depressed. He gets like that sometimes.'

'Did he…' Selena hesitated. 'Why did he run away from us? Do you know, my Lord?'

Morzan ignored the question.

'He wasn't what I expected him to be,' said Selena.

'He never is. Are you done eating?'

'Not quite, my Lord.'

'Well, I'm done,' said Morzan. 'I'll be in my room. You go where you like, but stay out of the empty quarter, got that? I don't want you going in there.'

'I would like to meet the King properly,' said Selena. 'You never told me he was so young, my Lord. Or so handsome,' she added dreamily.

'You stay away from him,' Morzan rasped. 'He's not interested in talking to peasants, understand?'

Selena nodded. 'I understand, my Lord.'

'Good.' Morzan left the dining hall.

Selena watched him go and then finished her cup of wine. She was feeling anxious, and poured herself another cup to soothe her nerves. Nothing so far had been what she expected. She had wanted to come to Urû'baen for a long time, and had wanted to meet the King there as well. Stories about him in Carvahall told all sorts of fantastical things about him. They said that he could turn himself into a shadow and that there was a curse on him that meant he could never be killed. And they whispered, too, of his madness, claiming that he had been insane ever since his first dragon had died and that all his subsequent murders had been motivated by warped delusions of revenge. Selena had heard many things about the Mad King, and they had fascinated as well as frightened her. She had often wondered what he was really like in person, but she had never, ever suspected that it would be like this.

The brief glimpse she had had of him, and the things she had learned about his private life, had bewildered her. She sat at the table, enjoying the fine Teirmish wine, and tried to convince herself that the King of Alagaësia slept in a hammock.

There was no doubt that he was insane. Why else would he have made himself a prisoner in his own castle? And run in terror from his oldest friend? He had even looked afraid of _her._ Their encounter had only lasted a minute or so, but she had seen the fear in his eyes when he looked at her. The idea that someone as feared as him could be frightened of her struck her as both bizarre and almost pitiful. How could that man be the one who had destroyed the old riders and held the country in thrall for nearly a century? It made no sense. But from what Morzan had told her, he hadn't always been like that. Once he had been very active; constantly travelling around the country and dealing with the affairs of the Empire personally. It was said he had even visited Carvahall once, a very long time ago, and that he had personally hunted down a pair of dangerous bandit chiefs who had been preying on travellers along the Ramr River. He had come to Gil'ead, too, during the plague, to try and treat the sick, and had gone in person to inspect the silver mines down near the Beors. He had even worked alongside the miners for a day, to show he was not above manual labour, or so Selena had heard from the son of one of those who had seen him. It was strange, really, that he had done all these things and yet remained a tyrant. Stories of his cruelty also abounded, though Selena did not know how many of them were true. He had captured rebels and dissidents ruthlessly tortured, and would use evil magic to tear information out of their minds by force. A number of plotters who had attempted to assassinate him had suffered vile deaths on his direct orders, and he had supposedly come to witness the execution in person and afterwards fed the corpses to his dragon. And they said he would bury people alive rather than put them to trial, and that he had burned libraries in order to suppress the information held in them. And he had killed his follower, the Lady Tranah, with his own hands, after she had displeased him. The Lord Vander, too, had been poisoned on his orders for attempting to make him marry a Surdan princess.

Somehow, though, these stories had only served to thrill Selena. And now she had seen him in person, she decided that the way he looked matched the stories. Dark and cold, and evil, but vulnerable at the same time. She did not know what to think of him, but she knew she wanted to see him again. Maybe he would let her touch him. A King's touch was supposed to be magical, and a riders' touch even more so.

Selena's gaze fell on Murtagh, who had grown bored with eating and was now playing with the bowl of chopped apple he'd been given. She could say he had wandered off again. It would be easy.

She stood up and smoothed out her gown. It was a fine thing, made from yellow silk and velvet and decorated with pearls to match the ones that studded the hairnet she wore.

Murtagh glanced up at her, and she went to him and reached down toward him. 'Do you want to come with Ma?'

He stood up and clasped her hand. 'I wanna go play with the funny man,' he said.

'Well, we'll see if we can find him then,' said Selena, who had no clue what he was talking about.

Murtagh went with her willingly enough, and she led him straight for the door to the empty quarter, hoping it would still be open.

It was, or at least it wasn't locked. The two guards still posted there immediately blocked her way. 'Sorry, my Lady, but you can't go in there,' said one. 'Orders of Lord Morzan.'

Selena stood a little taller. 'Lord Morzan sent me,' she said.

The guard paused. 'Can you prove that?'

'I beg your pardon?' said Selena, more loudly than she had intended. 'Do you know who I am?'

'I can't say I do, my Lady.'

'I am the Lady Selena, and I am the wife of Lord Morzan,' said Selena. In her mind it was only half a lie. 'And this is Lord Morzan's son, who I have been instructed to show to the King. Now let me past or I will see to it that you lose your job.'

The guards glanced at each other, and then stood aside. 'Very well, then,' said one. 'Go in, my Lady. We're sorry.'

They opened the door and Selena went through, keeping her chin raised. It was something she had learned from the noble ladies in Gil'ead, and she liked it. Nobility wasn't about birth or marriage. It was about how one carried oneself, or at least that was the conclusion she'd reached, and a high chin and a haughty voice would do the trick nine times out of ten.

She entered the empty quarter with a certain amount of confidence, unaware of what was going on on the other side of the door she had just passed through.

'I don't like this,' said one of the guards. 'It smells wrong. Should we do something?'

His friend thought it over. 'I'd better go and tell Lord Morzan. Just to be on the safe side. I don't want to get in trouble.'

'All right. I'll hold the door while you're gone.'

The guard left in a hurry.

Meanwhile, Selena was exploring the empty quarter, hoping to find the King. Most of it was obviously uninhabited, and had been for some time. She found rooms full of furniture, all covered in dust, and a wine cellar whose door had nearly rusted shut. There were servants' quarters which had evidently been abandoned in a hurry, and plenty of signs that the place had not been looked after properly – a broken window that hadn't been fixed, and moss growing in a dark corridor. A bird had got in at some point and died in one of the rooms; she saw its dried corpse lying on the floor, smelling of old feathers.

But there were signs that someone had been there, here and there. She found a room where someone had strung up a hammock which looked as if it had been slept in – there were soiled blankets heaped up near one wall, and clean ones by the door. She found stains on the floor, too, where something had been spilled and then inadequately cleaned up. But she found no sign of the King's presence. She made her way toward the library, and found it after a brief search. There was a fire burning in the grate there, and books were stacked on a table. Murtagh was starting to fuss, so she picked him up and moved on, bent on finding the King, whose presence she could almost sense now.

She passed through the library and into the corridor on the other side of it, and there she heard sounds. She followed them to a doorway and peeked through it.

Selena caught her breath. It was him.

The King was in a small room, standing by a long bench. His hands were busy with something on the benchtop in front of him; he seemed to be making something out of scraps of leather, stitching them together with a large needle. He was talking to himself as he worked.

'I'm coming soon now, Skade. Very soon. I kept you waiting too long, didn't I? Well, well, there you go, I suppose. Duty! Huh!' he chuckled to himself. 'Oh my. When you see me this time you'll remember me, won't you? I was sick when we met, and now…' he broke off and wrenched the needle through the leather again, pulling the thread tight before he resumed. He sighed. 'I'm getting old, Skade. Old inside. Old, old, old. I never thought I would. But I don't know anything, do I? I could be young again. You'd make me young, wouldn't you? Oh…' he paused in his work, and seemed to sag a little. 'I think there's another noose around my neck, Skade. But you can take it away from me. I know you can.' He laughed suddenly, and broke into another language. _'Fi 'm brenin 'r dirio, fi 'm arglwydd chan 'r foreodd, namyn Anrhegwn 'i pawb ar gerdded achos jyst hun ddiwrnod. Ai Fi ond had asgre.' _The words were ancient-sounding and lyrical, and he spoke them in a lilting way, almost singing them. He laughed again. 'Beautiful, isn't it? "I'm King of the land, I'm ruler of the seas, but I would give it all away for just one day". "If I only had a heart",' he added more quietly. 'But I do, Skade. Oh, I do.' He picked up a pair of scissors and cut the thread. 'There!' he said in triumphant tones. 'All done.'

Selena had listened to all this in astonished silence, not realising she was in plain view in the doorway. Galbatorix turned toward her, not knowing she was there, and for a moment she caught a preoccupied, half-dreamy look on his face before he started violently and yelled.

'_Da dduwiau!'_

Selena held up her free hand. 'I'm sorry-!'

Galbatorix relaxed. 'Good gods, what the hell are you doing here?'

Selena pulled herself together. She came forward into the room and bowed low. 'I'm sorry, Sire. I didn't mean to scare you.'

Galbatorix wiped his forehead with his sleeve. 'It's all right,' he said gruffly. 'But what are you doing here? Who are you?' he saw Murtagh. 'Oh. You're Morzan's… Lady, yes?'

'I am, Sire,' said Selena. She could see the King's embarrassment, which did a great deal to embolden her. 'My name is Selena Violetsdaughter, of Carvahall.'

'Carvahall… oh yes. I've been there. Not for a very long time, though.' His voice was hoarse, and he covered his mouth as he coughed. It was a nasty-sounding cough. He looked past her, toward the doorway. 'Is Morzan coming?'

Selena hesitated. 'No, Sire. I came to show you our son.' She touched Murtagh's head; he was watching Galbatorix with evident fascination. 'This is Murtagh.'

'We've met,' said Galbatorix, but his look toward Murtagh was interested.

Murtagh grinned. 'Hello, Galricks.'

Galbatorix smiled very slightly in return. 'So, you're Morzan's son, are you? Murtagh Morzanson. You're named for your grandfather, it seems. Well, I'm pleased to meet you.'

'Aren't you going to run away again?' said Murtagh, sounding quite disappointed.

Galbatorix winced. 'Uh… no. All out of puff, sorry.'

'Da was angry with you,' said Murtagh. 'He yelled.'

'Yes. He had every right to be angry with me.'

'He gonna chase you again?'

'Murtagh!' Selena exclaimed. 'You mustn't say things like that to the King!'

Galbatorix turned away. 'Oh, don't worry. I can't lock a three-year-old up for sedition, you know. We don't have any cells small enough.' He picked up the thing he'd been working on, and held it out toward Murtagh. 'Here. I made this for you.'

It was a small leather dragon, meticulously sewn, with buttons for eyes. Murtagh clasped it by one wing, with as much solemnity as if he had just been handed a knighthood.

'Say thankyou, Murtagh,' said Selena.

''Nkyou,' said Murtagh.

'So,' said Galbatorix. 'If I may be so bold… my Lady… what are you doing here? I specifically asked to be left alone.'

'I am sorry, Sire,' said Selena, still frightened of him in spite of his comparative friendliness so far. 'I… I have always wanted to meet you.'

Galbatorix raised an eyebrow. 'Is that so?'

'Yes, Sire.'

He sighed. 'Please don't call me that.'

'Why, Sire?' said Selena.

Galbatorix walked past her toward the door, giving her a wide berth. 'Because I'm tired of it,' he said.

She followed him at a respectful distance, to the library, where he flopped down in a chair and drank deeply from a mug of water. He gestured at one of the other chairs. 'Sit down, by all means.'

Selena sat, and put Murtagh down. He wandered off to inspect the bookshelves, the toy dragon dangling from one hand.

'So,' said Galbatorix. 'How is my old friend?'

'You mean the Lord Morzan, Sire?'

'Yes. And please stop calling me "Sire". If you really must, just call me sir. How is Morzan? And be honest. He wouldn't tell me himself. Is he happy?'

'His Lordship is healthy and content, Sire,' said Selena.

Galbatorix looked annoyed. 'I asked you if he was happy. I didn't ask for pleasantries. Does he still drink? Yes, I know about that. I was hoping he would pull himself together.'

'He…'

'Go on.'

'Lord Morzan drinks a great deal, Sire,' said Selena.

'Every night?'

'Most nights, Sire.'

'Does he hit you?'

'I…' Selena hesitated, but her resistance crumbled in the face of Galbatorix's stare. 'Yes, Sire,' she said. 'Sometimes. When I make him angry.'

Galbatorix's jaw tightened. 'What about the boy?'

'Oh, never, Sire!' said Selena. 'He would never do that.'

'I see.' Galbatorix rubbed one of his eyes; it was blackened and swollen. 'Morzan does have a bad habit of trying to communicate with his fists. I'm sorry for that, but there's nothing I can do about it.'

Selena was mortified. 'He didn't hit _you_, did he, Sire?'

Galbatorix touched his eye again. 'Oh, this? No, no. I, uh, fell down the stairs.'

'Sire?' said Selena. 'May I… ask you a question?'

'Go ahead.'

'Who is Skade?'

'Ah.' Her question had clearly embarrassed him again. 'Skade was… a woman I knew once, a very long time ago.'

Selena resisted the temptation to ask him any more on the subject. She didn't want to make him angry with her. If he was insane, it could make him unpredictable. She wanted to ask him other questions, too, like why he had run from her before, and why he had locked himself up like this, but she didn't dare. 'I heard you were going to marry a princess from Surda,' she said, hoping this would be a more diplomatic subject. 'But the court at Gil'ead say you changed your mind, Sire.'

Galbatorix's eyes went cold. 'I do not need a Queen to rule here, my Lady.'

'And a rider does not marry, Sire,' Selena said hastily. 'Lord Morzan told me so when I asked him if he would marry me.'

'Riders do marry,' said Galbatorix, apparently mollified. 'But most of them don't.' He wasn't sure why he was talking to this woman, but the answer was fairly obvious once he thought about it. He was bored and lonely, and he didn't care that he didn't know her and that he should be sending her away. 'I have been told to find a Queen,' he added impulsively. 'Hundreds of times. I nearly did, but now I know I never shall.'

'It must be lonely, Sire,' said Selena. 'To be Queenless.'

'Immortality is loneliness,' Galbatorix intoned. 'And I have my dragon.'

'I was lonely in my old village, Sire,' said Selena. 'I needed something more than the life I had there, and when Lord Morzan came I hoped I had found it.'

'And do you have what you wanted now?' said Galbatorix.

Selena did not reply.

'So you don't,' Galbatorix concluded. 'Why is that, my Lady? What is it you really want?'

'I don't know, Sire,' Selena whispered.

'But you'll do anything to get it,' said Galbatorix. 'Including seducing a man five times your age and bearing his child. And even that wasn't enough? You have wealth, and a fine son, and a good home. People even call you Lady Selena now. But you still want more, do you?'

Selena had gone red. 'I do not wish to look ungrateful, Sire-,'

'Oh, don't apologise to me. I think it's your son who deserves an apology. But I think I should warn you, my Lady.'

'Warn me, Sire?'

'You would be well advised to watch your step,' said Galbatorix. 'And not because I might get angry with you and throw you out of the castle. You weren't born to the position you're in now, and you haven't been there long enough to know. This is not a game, Selena Violetsdaughter of Carvahall. There are people out there who know that. They know about you. Bad things happen to people who move in powerful circles, especially if they're incautious. You're associated with me, through Morzan, and that alone is enough to put you in danger. So tread carefully.'

'I am not afraid, Sire,' said Selena. 'My Lord will protect me, and so will you.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I knew someone who said things like that once. His name was… Arren Cardockson. He wasn't anyone in particular. Just a boy from Teirm. He rose to a powerful position before he was ready, and he believed he was invincible. He was wrong, and it cost him.'

'What happened to him, Sire?'

'He died. I couldn't protect him, and nor could the Forsworn. In the end, nothing could save him. Whenever I move in politics, whenever I deal with power, if I think I might be being too reckless or overconfident, I think of Arren Cardockson and how he died – betrayed by his friends, stabbed through the heart by the woman he loved. In the end he killed himself. I buried him myself. No-one came to witness it. And to this day I am the only person who ever mourned him.'

'Who was he, Sire?'

'No-one. Just a boy. But he had a good heart, and I miss him. But remember that, Selena. Look after yourself. And look after Morzan. He's more vulnerable than he seems, and he needs to be loved.'

'Everyone needs to be loved, Sire,' said Selena. 'So my father told me.'

Galbatorix nodded vaguely. 'Yes, I suppose that's true.'

'Do you, Sire?' said Selena.

He stiffened slightly. 'You are being overfamiliar, my Lady.'

'I am sorry, Sire. But my Lord cares about you, and so do I.'

A hint of contempt showed in his face. 'I'm sure you do.'

'Do you miss this woman, Skade?' said Selena. She wanted to see how far she could push him without actually provoking him. The vulnerability she had seen in him before had shown a few times while they talked, but now he was hiding it, and she wanted to see it again.

'That isn't your concern, my Lady,' said Galbatorix. He stood up. 'You should go now. I need to rest.'

Selena stood too. 'I am sorry, Sire. I will leave you. But can I ask you for something first, Sire?'

'Yes? What is it?'

Selena looked demurely at him. 'It is said that a King's touch is a blessing, Sire. If I may, I would like to seek that honour.'

Galbatorix stared at her. 'You want me to _touch_ you?'

'If it isn't too much trouble, Sire,' said Selena.

'What on earth for? I'm just another human being, my Lady. I really don't think being touched by me will bring you any good luck. Quite the opposite, actually.'

'Even so, Sire. Will you?'

'Oh, fine, if you really want me to,' said Galbatorix. He stepped forward and touched her briefly on the forehead. He was wearing gloves, and she felt the rough leather brush against her skin before he quickly withdrew.

'I meant… without your gloves on, Sire,' she said.

'That I can't agree to,' said Galbatorix. 'You may go now, my Lady.'

Selena paused, watching him. 'Shall I visit you again, Sire?' she asked.

'I'm sure it won't be necessary,' said Galbatorix.

'But if you would like me to, I will,' said Selena.

He moved away from her, to stand in front of the fireplace. 'I think you have better things to do with your time than talk to me, my Lady. Now please go.'

But Selena had found her footing now. She had the measure of him, or believed she did, and she moved closer to him. 'They say a King's love is more powerful than any other, Sire, and an even greater blessing than his touch. Is that true?'

'They also say a peasant's superstitions are more stupid than any other,' Galbatorix said sourly. 'And I'm beginning to believe it.'

'Yes, peasants are stupid, Sire,' said Selena. 'They know nothing about you. About us. The nobility, I mean, Sire. They tell ridiculous stories about you, and about the Forsworn. They're fools. And they're ungrateful.'

'It's in the nature of people to be ungrateful,' said Galbatorix.

'It's wrong, Sire,' said Selena. 'What they say about you. It makes me sad.'

He glanced at her. 'Oh? And what _do_ they say?'

'They say you are evil, Sire,' said Selena. 'They say you are insane. They say you have no heart, Sire. But I know you do, Sire,' she added. Her confidence was soaring now. She knew what to do. How to play him. She had done it with so many other men; she could do it with him. 'I know you have a heart.'

'Oh? How?' Galbatorix asked the question in spite of himself. This woman's naïvety was almost fascinating.

'Because you fought the plague in Gil'ead, Sire,' said Selena. 'And because you have friends. And because Morzan told me you were in love once. A heartless man cannot love, Sire.'

'Morzan told you…?'

'That you had a beloved once, Sire, and that you refuse to marry because of her. That story… moved me, Sire.'

He glanced at her again. 'Well thankyou, my Lady.'

Selena braced herself. It was now or never. She moved a little closer to him, so slowly he would barely notice it. 'Do you know what I believe, Sire?'

'I don't believe I do, my Lady.'

'I believe you could love again, Sire,' said Selena.

Galbatorix turned to stare directly at her, his expression a mixture of anger and incredulity. 'Are you trying to seduce me?'

'You could love again, just for one night, Sire,' Selena said boldly. 'I know you could, as I know you have a heart. If you only chose to show it to me, I could make you happy for a time, Sire.'

There was no anger in his face now, only disgust. 'Get out of my sight, Selena. I am not available for you to play with, now or any other time. Go back to Morzan.'

Fear suddenly rose up in her chest, but she persisted; could not help but persist. 'Lord Morzan doesn't need to know, Sire.'

Galbatorix looked past her. 'I think he already does.'

Selena turned, and there, to her horror, was Morzan, standing in the doorway and staring at her with an expression of pure fury. She hurried toward him. 'My Lord, I-,'

He hit her, his fist connecting with her chin so hard that she was hurled backward. She landed awkwardly against a chair, half-conscious, and Morzan came on toward her. He was holding his sword in one hand. 'You miserable _slut!_' he roared. 'You lying little whore!'

Galbatorix rushed forward. 'Morzan, no!'

Morzan pointed at him. 'What the hell did you do? Did you let her in here? Did you-?'

'Morzan, stop it, calm down-,'

Selena got up, and held out a hand as Morzan advanced on her. 'My Lord, please, no, I didn't mean-,'

But her protests only served to make Morzan even angrier. 'So be damned with the lot of you!' he bellowed, and hurled Zar'roc across the room as hard as he could.

Too late, they saw the danger. Too late did Selena scream. Too late did Galbatorix dart forward to try and put himself in the way.

The red-bladed sword grazed the table, flipped over on its axis, and hit Murtagh square in the back. The child fell, screaming, blood soaking through the back of his tunic, and the sword landed on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

Galbatorix acted fast. He ran across the room, nearly falling over a chair, and knocked the sword aside, lifting Murtagh and placing him on the table. Murtagh writhed and screamed, his wound gushing blood, and Galbatorix tried to hold him still with one hand. The other went into his robe and pulled out a small bottle of green liquid. He pulled the cork out with his teeth, downed the contents and threw the bottle aside. Then he pulled off his glove and spread his hand over Murtagh. '_Waíse heill!_'

Black energy glowed around his hand, from the gedwëy ignaesia, and spread down onto Murtagh's back. The wound bled more profusely, and Murtagh's screams grew louder. Galbatorix stood stock still, snarling in concentration, channelling his magic into the child. It worked erratically, and Murtagh started to jerk and twitch, screaming at the top of his lungs while Morzan looked on, paralysed with horror.

Selena took one look at the spectacle in front of her and ran out of the room.

Galbatorix did not see her go. He poured his magic into Murtagh, closing his ears to the child's tortured screams and cries, not caring how much it cost him. The potion he'd drunk had given him back some energy, and he used it now, all of it.

His vision started to go grey, and still Murtagh's back was bleeding. But he could see the wound starting to close, and he opened the channel in his mind as far as it would go, giving the child the last of his strength.

'_Sir!'_ Morzan's voice sounded distorted and far away. But Murtagh's convulsions were lessening, and the wound had stopped bleeding. It was healing.

The child had gone limp. He was going into shock. Galbatorix knew that he was in trouble too. The room was spinning around him. He could feel his heart pattering frantically, like a bird trying to escape from a cage. His hearing and vision were fading rapidly. The sores on his chest hurt horribly. They were bleeding again. He could feel it soaking through the bandages. He knew he was going to die, but he didn't care.

He couldn't see Murtagh any more. Everything was going dark. He couldn't even tell if he was still standing up. The only thing he could still feel was his hand, burning with energy. The magic was still working. It was going to be all right, it was…

Murtagh lay on the table, unconscious, his tunic stained with blood as the last of Galbatorix's magic faltered and then faded away. The King stood still for a moment, and then silently crumpled.


	21. The Beginning of the End

Chapter Twenty-One

Beginning of the End

Selena didn't know where she was going. She ran out of the empty quarter as fast as she could go, heedless of her long skirts. Once she was out of there, though, she did not stop. She ran on, away and out of the castle that had suddenly become a place of such terror for her, her face throbbing with pain from Morzan's blow. Murtagh's screams still echoed in her ears, and she could see him writhing on the table, caught up in the grip of the Mad King's magic. Dying.

'I'm sorry,' she sobbed as she ran. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry…'

The streets of Urû'baen were crowded and noisy, but clean, and blessedly normal. She slowed to a more dignified walk and struck out into the city, wanting to find some place where she could hide, somewhere where she would be safe, where Morzan and his evil master would not find her.

She was aware of the stares people were directing at her. They knew she was a noble from her dress, and she suddenly wished she had stopped to change into something plainer. She would attract far less attention that way.

As she started to look for a shop where she could buy a different outfit, she suddenly realised that there were tears on her face. She ducked into an alley and dabbed at them, breathing deeply to try and control herself.

Someone stepped out of the shadow of a doorway to confront her. His face was covered.

'Lady Selena?'

Selena started and turned to leave the alley, but too late. Others were appearing as if from nowhere to block her way. She was surrounded.

She started to sob. 'No! Please leave me alone!'

The hooded figure nodded to his companions. 'Grab her.'

Selena tried to break away from them, but she had no chance. They seized her by the shoulders and tied her hands behind her back, and the next moment she had been gagged and blindfolded and was being dragged away, into darkness.

When Galbatorix woke up, he knew he had hurt himself. His chest felt as if iron spikes were being hammered into it, and his throat was sheer agony. He opened his eyes after a mighty struggle, and found himself lying in his hammock. He tried to move, but his limbs felt as if they were tied down.

'…_sir…?'_

Morzan's voice came to him from over a great distance. He managed to turn his head, and saw him sitting nearby. He was pale and unshaven, and his eyes were red-rimmed.

'_Morzan.'_ Galbatorix's voice came out in a strangled rasp.

Morzan stood up. 'It's all right, sir. I haven't told anyone. How d'you feel?'

Memory came creeping back, and Galbatorix's hands clenched. 'Bring… me… box.'

Morzan glanced at the desk, where the white box was still sitting. 'That one, sir?'

Galbatorix nodded. Morzan fetched the box and brought it to him. He opened it, and Galbatorix raised one hand with a great effort and dragged out the piece of paper. His vision was blurry, but he could make out the words on it. _I, King Galbatorix Taranisäii-Traeganni…_

Galbatorix clutched the scroll to his chest, breathing heavily. 'Give… crown.'

Morzan pulled it out and handed it to him. Galbatorix laid it down beside him, then took the scroll in his fingers and slowly and laboriously tore it in half. 'Get… out of my… sight.'

Agony showed in Morzan's face. 'Sir, I-,'

Galbatorix gave him a look of utter contempt and turned his head away from him, holding the crown in one hand.

Morzan bowed his head and silently walked away toward the door.

'Morzan?'

Morzan looked back, hope rising in his chest. 'Yes, sir?'

Galbatorix paused to take in several rasping breaths. 'Will… did… is the boy… dead?'

'No, sir. You saved him. The healers are looking after him now. He's going to live.'

Galbatorix closed his eyes. 'Good.'

'Sir, you know I didn't mean to-,'

But Galbatorix did not reply. He had fallen asleep.

Morzan walked down the stairs, moving unsteadily. He felt old suddenly. Old and tired, and miserable.

He returned to his room and locked himself in, and then slumped down on the bed, his head in his hands. There was a spot of Murtagh's blood on his sleeve. He'd been so distracted over the last day or so that he hadn't noticed it, or even thought to change his clothes. He had stayed by Galbatorix until he woke up again, and during that time he hadn't slept or eaten properly. He had drunk most of his meals.

Murtagh would survive, at least. Galbatorix had managed to partially heal his wound, and now the healers were tending to him while it finished closing on its own. Morzan had wanted to heal it with his own magic, but had not. Murtagh was terrified of him now. He would start crying the moment he laid eyes on him, and Morzan couldn't bear to see it and had hidden himself away in the empty quarter, much as Galbatorix had done, as if his guilt were a disease as contagious as the plague.

He hadn't seen Selena since she had run away, two days ago. No doubt she was avoiding him, and he hadn't made any effort to find her. The truth was that he didn't want to see her, and if he never saw her again it would not have upset him much.

Morzan stared at the wall. _'What am I gonna do?'_ he mumbled, to Idün.

'_Apologise,'_ said Idün.

'_To who? What the hell good would that do me?'_

'_I don't know. But it's the only thing you can do. Go and see Murtagh again.'_

'_Are you stupid?'_ Morzan snarled. _'He screams the place down as soon as he sees me. Forget it, Idün. I'm not going near him. He's better off not having me around.'_

'_But-,'_

But Morzan had had enough. He blocked her out of his mind and snatched up the bottle that stood on the beside table. The cork came out easily enough, and he gulped down the contents, recklessly fast. It went to his head almost instantly, but he paused only briefly to catch his breath before downing the rest. The bottle dropped out of his hand and smashed on the floor, and he flopped back onto the bed and slipped into a drunken stupor.

Selena had never been more terrified in her life. She struggled hopelessly against her captors until one of them roughly hit her and muttered; 'Bloody stop that. Just come quietly and we won't hurt you.'

After that she went with them meekly enough, unable to see where she was going, heart pounding. They took her by the shoulders and dragged her away, and she quickly gave up trying to guess the direction. The journey was short and rough, and ended when she was bundled through a door and into what felt like a confined space. There she was forced into a chair and bound tightly to it, arms pinned to her sides.

A hand gripped her shoulder. 'All right,' a voice rasped in her ear. 'I'm going to take the gag off you now. But don't bother trying to scream. No-one will hear you. Just co-operate and you'll be let go.'

The hand let go, and a moment later the gag came off. Selena coughed and gagged, trying to get rid of the taste of the badly-dyed cloth. 'Please don't hurt me,' she said at once. 'I haven't done anything wrong, I swear, I just want-,'

'Be quiet,' said the voice. 'Just listen to me.'

'I'll do whatever you want,' Selena babbled. 'Just don't hurt me, just please don't-,'

A hand slapped her face. 'Shut up! Now listen to me, you miserable slut. You're going to help us, understand?'

Selena nodded silently.

'Good. We need access to the castle, and safe passage to the living quarters. You are going to help us do it, understood?'

'How?' said Selena.

'You will get rid of the guards. Dismiss them, drug them, trick them… whatever it takes. Find a door that few people use, and see it is unlocked and unguarded.'

'Where is it you want to get to?' Selena asked carefully.

A pause. 'To the top of the dragon roost.'

Selena froze. 'The King's bedroom?'

'Yes.'

'I will help you,' said Selena. 'But it would be hard. There are doors sealed with magic, and…'

'We can deal with magic. Do this for us, and you will have helped to free the country from the Empire's cruelty, and avenged the victims of the King.'

'I will do all I can to help you,' said Selena. 'I swear it.'

'You had better,' the voice said coldly. 'If you betray us, you will die. We have the means to track you down. You cannot hide from us.'

Selena hesitated. '_Heit… truír viđ… ykar_.' She spoke slowly, in a fractured version of the ancient language, feeling a strange tingling in her body as she did.

The sharp intake of breath from the other person in the room was quite audible to her. 'How do you know that language?' he demanded.

'I learned it from… Lord Morzan,' said Selena. 'He made a man say it to him to promise loyalty. He told me the ancient language makes a promise unbreakable.'

'Then you have sworn your loyalty to me,' said the man. She felt him touch her face, and the blindfold was pulled away.

Selena blinked in the sudden light. She was in a tiny room, lit by a single candle. The floor was dirt, and the ceiling consisted of slightly rotted wooden planks. A cellar, most likely, its air cool and smelling of decay.

There was only one other person there, standing over her. He was shrouded in a dark brown cloak with a hood, and held a dagger in one hand. Selena cringed as he lowered it toward her, but he only cut the ropes binding her to the chair. She pulled them off and rubbed her arms, staring at him. 'Why…?'

'Your vow is unbreakable,' said the man. 'If you betray me, you will suffer instant death. It is no longer necessary to keep you tied up, or to threaten you.' He put the dagger back into his belt, hesitated a moment, and then pulled back his hood.

The face that was revealed was that of a middle-aged man with a slightly hooked nose and greying hair. He wore a neatly-trimmed small beard, and his eyes were bright blue.

Selena froze. 'Oh my gods… it's _you!'_

He smiled very slightly. 'You remember me, do you?'

'I thought I knew your voice,' said Selena. 'But… what are you doing here, Brom?'

The man's eyes were shadowed in the candle-light. 'Seeking justice,' he said. 'Along with my friends. But I might ask the same question of you, Selena Violetsdaughter.'

She looked at the floor. 'I didn't mean to. I mean… I was in love, I was pregnant, I…' her voice faltered suddenly, and she started to sob. 'I didn't mean it, I didn't want, I didn't… oh gods…'

Brom put a hand on her shoulder. 'It's all right, Selena. I'm sorry if I scared you. But I couldn't risk anyone finding out about me. If the King knows about this…'

Selena got up out of her chair and put her arms around him, clinging to him. 'Help me, Brom,' she half-wailed. 'Please, help me. I've done something awful, I… oh gods, what have I done?'

Brom embraced her. 'Please, Selena, calm down. It's all right, you're safe. I don't blame you for what you did. You were young. You weren't the only one who trusted the wrong people. But you have the chance to make things right again.'

She calmed down after a while, comforted by his touch. 'Are you going to kill the King?'

'Yes. If I can.'

'And Morzan?'

Brom's grip on her tightened a little. 'Oh yes. Him especially.'

'Then I will help you do it,' said Selena.

Brom let go of her. 'Why? You're married to him, aren't you? And you gave birth to his son.'

Selena's sobs started to return at this. 'He killed – they – my son-,'

Brom took hold of her shoulder. 'What is it? What did he do?'

'Morzan killed my son,' Selena whispered at last. 'And the King helped him. They…' She lost control again, and it was some time before she could speak. 'Morzan threw… threw his sword… hit him with it. He was bleeding everywhere, screaming, and then the King… he used magic on him. Tortured him. I heard him screaming, he was screaming, dying there, and I ran and I heard him screaming as I ran…'

Brom breathed in deeply. 'Oh gods…'

'Oh gods, I'm such an idiot!' Selena wailed. 'I th – I thought – it was safe, I thought… took my son to him. I _showed_ him to him! He looked so harmless. He was _kind_ to me. And Murtagh, he even talked to him, he made him a little toy and gave it to him, and, and, Morzan came and he hit me, and they _killed…_'

'They have killed many people,' Brom said softly. 'They are murderers. Your son was just one of their victims. Do you understand now why they have to die?'

Selena nodded. 'Kill them, Brom. I'm n… I'm not – not – I meant to take that vow. I _want_ to help you.'

'Here,' said Brom. 'Sit down. Rest a little. I'll get you something to drink.' He settled her down on the chair and left, returning a little while later with a flask. 'Here,' he said, offering it to her. 'It's just water with a few herbs in it, but it's all we've got.'

Selena drank it, and felt a little better. 'You're… you're the Varden, aren't you?' she said. 'You and your friends.'

Brom nodded.

'And you killed…'

'Yes. I killed Orwyne and Tuomas personally, and I arranged the poisoning of Ana. I would have killed the others as well, if they hadn't taken their own lives before I got to them. They must all die, every last one of them. Including the King.'

Selena could see the hatred burning in his eyes. 'You're so brave. How could you kill riders? Without magic…'

'A just cause is enough to overcome any weakness. I would have fought them all at once if I had to.'

'But why?' said Selena.

'Because I lost someone I loved to them as well,' said Brom. 'A long time ago.'

'Your wife?'

'No.' Brom stood still a moment, watching her, and then took off the glove he wore on his right hand and silently held it out, palm downward.

And Selena saw it, gleaming in the candlelight, pale and silvery and unmistakeable. She went cold all over. 'Oh… my gods… you're a _rider!'_

Brom pulled his glove back on. 'Not any more.'

'You lost your dragon?'

'Yes. It happened at Vroengard. I was just a newly-trained rider, doing sentry duty on Vrael's orders. There was an attack one night. It was led by a man I once counted as my best friend. He had betrayed me to Galbatorix, along with the rest of our order, and that night… he killed my dragon.'

'Morzan,' Selena breathed.

Brom's face hardened. 'Yes. I have been after him for a long time and soon I will have my chance to kill him. And you will help me to do this, Selena?'

A fierce love for him rose up in her chest, and she embraced him again. 'Yes. I will, Brom, I will. I will open the door, I will remove the guards. I will let you get to him.'

Brom held onto her, his strength surprising her. 'Thankyou, Selena. Now…' he gently pushed her into the chair again, and sat down on the floor, cross-legged. 'Tell me everything you know. How does the King sleep? What are his habits? How many guards does he have?'

'None,' said Selena.

Brom stared at her. '_None?'_

Selena nodded. 'There are no guards outside his bedroom door. He seals it with magic.'

'I can undo that. What about the rest of the castle?'

'There are no guards in the part of the castle where the King sleeps,' said Selena. 'The entire Northern quarter is deserted.'

'Why?'

'It was done on the King's orders, three years ago,' said Selena. 'No-one knows why. But he lives in there on his own and never comes out any more. He wouldn't even let Morzan in at first.'

Brom frowned and scratched his beard; evidently this news had taken him by surprise. 'We had heard rumours about something like this. So the King's madness runs even deeper than I thought. How is he in person? Does he act rationally?'

'Part of the time,' said Selena. 'He…' she stopped to think about it, and then went on. 'I spoke to him a while ago. I thought he was strange, but he looked harmless. Friendly, even. He asked me about Morzan and whether he was happy, and he asked me not to call him Sire because he was tired of it. But before then… I have been into the empty quarter. The King has been living in there for three years and no-one else has been in there. When Morzan and I went in to find him, he… well he ran away from us. He looked terrified when he saw us, as if he thought we were going to kill him. Morzan had to chase him, but he sent me away first so I never saw what happened after that. Later on I asked, and he said the King was fine, just depressed.'

Brom was listening closely. 'What had he been doing in there all that time?'

'I don't know.' Selena remembered the room where she had seen him talking to himself, mere hours ago. 'Making boots,' she added thoughtlessly.

Brom jerked slightly in surprise. 'Making…?'

'I think so. There was a room full of pieces of leather and tools, and there were boots lined up near the wall.'

'Good gods,' Brom muttered. 'Making boots.'

'I thought it was very odd,' said Selena.

'Not that odd,' said Brom. 'As far as I know, he's always made his own boots. He was brought up as a leatherworker, you see. That was the trade he learnt before he became a rider. I remember him telling me how he never wore a pair of boots he hadn't made himself.'

'He told you…?'

'Oh yes. We were friends once.' Brom's eyes darkened. 'I remember when I first knew him, I thought of him as you did. I thought he was my friend. Solitary and a bit serious, but still a good person. I was wrong, and it cost me. Now tell me… what is his bedroom like? Did you see it?'

'I did. It's very small.'

'What about the furniture?'

'There's nothing much,' said Selena. 'Just a desk and a chair, and a cupboard and clothes chest. And a hammock.'

'He still sleeps in a hammock?' said Brom, half to himself.

'He always has, Morzan said,' said Selena.

'I see. What about Morzan?'

'I don't know where his bedroom is,' said Selena. 'Mine is separate and I didn't see his. But I can find out…'

'Good. Now, there's one other thing I want to ask you. The chances are small, but even so.'

'What is it?' said Selena.

'We believe there is a treasure being kept in the castle,' said Brom. 'Which we would like to recover, if we can.'

'I have not seen the treasury,' said Selena.

'It may not be in there. Listen carefully. The thing we are after… well, there are three of them. They would be oval. About this big.' He showed her with his hands. 'We don't know what colour they are, but they would be each one colour, with white veins, and perfectly smooth. Have you seen anything like that?'

Selena opened her mouth to say no, and then stopped.

Brom was quick to spot it. 'You've seen them?'

'I… think so.'

'What did they look like?'

'There was only one,' said Selena. 'But it was about this big, and it was oval shaped. It was blue.'

'Did it have veins?'

'I'm not sure. But it's in the King's bedroom. In the chest. It has a false bottom. Morzan took it out, and when I asked what it was he said it was a treasure.'

Triumph showed in Brom's eyes. 'Perfect. Listen, Selena. This is what I want you to do. If you can – and only if you can – I want you to go into the King's bedroom when he isn't there. If you can do that without being seen, take this treasure out of the chest and smuggle it out of there. When you come to let us in, give it to us. Even if our mission fails, we can get it to safety. Can you do that?'

Fear gripped her, but she nodded anyway. 'I could try.'

'Then try,' said Brom. He smiled at her. 'You're a brave woman, Selena. You have survived astonishingly well in the situation you were in. I am sorry for what I called you. It was cruel of me.'

Selena took in a shuddering breath. 'It's all right.'

'Now,' said Brom. 'I don't want to rush you, but we can't stay here much longer. You don't have to go back to the castle straight away. I'll understand if you need some time to recover. Are you likely to be missed?'

Selena shook her head. 'Morzan lets me go where I want. I can say I went to explore the town. I already told him I wanted to. He doesn't… he doesn't pay much attention to me.'

'Come with me, then,' said Brom. 'I'll take you to my place. But we have to be careful. Here, put this on.' He offered her a cloak.

Selena took it and put it on; it was rough and cheaply made, but large enough to cover her gown.

Brom pulled his hood back on. 'Put your own hood on, and make sure it covers your face. Here, let me help you.' Once it was arranged to his satisfaction, he headed toward the door, gesturing at her to follow. 'Let's go. We have to be careful. No talking, and try not to look at people. We'll go via the back streets. Luckily it's cold outside today, so people shouldn't find it too suspicious that we're keeping ourselves covered like this. Walk beside me and keep close, all right?'

Selena nodded and silently followed him out of the cellar. 'Where are your friends?' she asked in an undertone.

'Gone,' said Brom. 'I told them to leave when I got the water for you. We don't stay together for too long, and we all have separate hiding-places. I'm staying in a tavern not too far from here. And listen; from now on you call me Neal, all right? And you'll be Lily.'

He opened the door and looked out, nodding to her and opening it fully once he was sure the coast was clear. The two of them exited the cellar, and Brom locked it with a key which he stuffed into his pocket. 'No coming back here again. Never use the same place twice. Let's go.'

They had emerged into a narrow alley, and Selena had to walk behind Brom until they had emerged into another one, which was a little larger. She took her place by his side, keeping close to him, and he surprised her by taking hold of her hand. He said nothing, but he gave it a slight squeeze as they set out into the city.

Their journey to Brom's lodgings was not too long, but nerve-wracking. Selena forced herself to move slowly, comforted by the feeling of his hand in hers, but it was all she could do to force herself to breathe slowly. They passed a group of the city's guards on patrol, and Selena shrank away from them, staring at the ground. What if they saw her face? What if they recognised her? What if-?

Brom inclined his head politely toward the guards and walked on past them without flinching, and one or two of them watched incuriously as the two of them went on their way.

'It's all right,' Brom murmured once they were out of earshot. 'They didn't suspect a thing.'

Selena tried not to think about the gallows and the chopping block. 'What if we're caught?'

'We won't be. But if something does happen, run. Don't wait for me.'

They said no more after that, but Selena was glad that Brom was there. She had known him back in Carvahall; he had bought a house there a few years ago and lived there for a time, becoming known as something of an eccentric loner. He had left frequently on what he claimed were trading errands or visits to relatives, and the villagers, disinclined to be nosy, had been content to leave him to his own devices. Selena, intrigued by this stranger with the odd habits and the different accent, had sought him out a few times and talked to him. He had been friendly, but unforthcoming, and she had liked the mystery about him. When he had suddenly disappeared, shortly before Morzan came, she had been sad to see him go.

Thoughts like these helped to distract her from what was going on around her; she did her best to turn away from anyone who looked in her direction, holding onto Brom's hand as if it were an anchor. _He'll keep me safe,_ she told herself, almost desperately. _If something happens, he'll protect me. He needs me. He can save me._

By the time they finally reached their destination, though, she was pale and trembling, her face cold with sweat. Her eyes were starting to glaze, and she barely knew where she was any more. Brom tugged her gently toward the door, and she went with him blindly. He glanced around to make sure he was unobserved, and muttered a word over the door, which gently swung open, and then bundled her through it. It led to a small storeroom full of crates, and they weaved between these and passed through into an empty passage.

'Keep quiet,' Brom whispered, and led her along it to the bottom of a flight of stairs. They went up these and arrived in a short corridor with several doors in it. Brom took another key from his pocket and unlocked one of them, and they stepped inside.

There was a room beyond; sparsely furnished, with a bed, a cupboard and a table. There were signs of occupation; a bag of clothes sat on the end of the bed, and there was some food on the table.

Brom locked the door behind him, and pulled off his cloak. 'Phew! All right, thank gods that's over. Here, come on, just sit down…' he gently led her to the bed and sat her down.

Selena's trembling had grown worse. She clutched at his hand, unable to speak, and he gently took her cloak off and put it aside. 'It's all right,' he said. 'It's all right. Selena? Selena, just breathe deeply-,'

Selena tried to, but as soon as she had drawn it in something hard caught in her throat and she cried out and started to sob. Tears ran uncontrollably down her face, and she held onto Brom's hand, so hard she felt the bones move under the skin.

Brom half-crouched on the floor, holding her hands in his. 'It's all right, Selena! Just – calm down, just look at me. _Look at me!' _She did, and he looked into her eyes, his own eyes kind but stern. 'That's it. Just look at me and breathe deeply. It's all right. You're safe. You're all right. I won't let anything hurt you. Yes, that's it. Breathe. In and out. Slower. Yes. That's it. That's right. You're all right…'

The sound of his voice soothed her, and her breathing steadied. Once or twice she sobbed again, but gradually she started to calm down and the shaking stopped.

Brom stood up, keeping his motions slow and gentle, and sat down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled against his side, feeling his heart beating against hers. 'Thankyou,' she whispered.

Brom touched her face. 'It's all right,' he said again, as if he were talking to a child. 'I've got you. You're safe.'

They stayed like this for some time, until Selena had recovered.

'I'll get you something to eat, all right?' said Brom, carefully letting go of her.

She lay down on her side as he went to the table and cut some bread and sausage for her. He brought it to her, with a cup of wine, and she ate ravenously, and drank. The wine was cheap, but she didn't care.

'There,' said Brom. 'All better now?'

Selena nodded. 'I'm sorry,' she mumbled. 'I don't know what happened.'

'It's all right. The shock was too much for you, that's all. You'll be fine. Do you want some more?'

'Yes, thankyou.'

She didn't finish all of the second helping, but Brom gently relieved her of it and ate it in a few bites. 'Ah, that's better. Not a patch on fresh food, but not bad either. How do you feel now?'

'Tired,' said Selena.

'That's to be expected. Well, you just rest here for a while. We're in no danger. Take all the time you need.'

Selena nodded. 'Brom?'

'Yes? What is it?'

'Will you…' she hesitated, almost shyly. 'Will you hold me again?'

He put the plate on the floor and sat next to her on the bed. 'Like this?' he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders.

She pressed herself against him. 'Thankyou. I mean I… I just needed someone to touch me.'

'It's a good thing,' Brom agreed. 'When we feel alone, we need to be touched. Everyone does. Even urgals, probably.' He grinned. 'But probably not Ra'zac.'

Selena giggled weakly. 'I don't think anything would want to touch a Ra'zac. Even the ground probably doesn't like it.'

'Of course not!' said Brom. 'Haven't you heard?'

'Heard what?' said Selena, glancing up at him.

'There used to be only one peak next to Dras-Leona,' said Brom. 'They moved together like that after a Ra'zac tried to land on them, for protection.' He laughed. 'If you look closely at them, you can see them trembling.'

Selena giggled. 'You're silly.'

'Do you really think so?' Brom asked seriously.

She glanced at him, not sure if he was joking, but then she saw the gleam in his eye. 'You're _very_ silly,' she said.

He grinned again. 'D'you know, when I was a boy, they used to call me Brom the Scarecrow. Know why?'

'Because you're thin?' said Selena.

'Because I was such a grinning fool that they reckoned only a bird would be scared of me. Well, and I was also skinny,' he added.

'That's nonsense,' Selena declared. 'I was scared of you.'

'You were?'

'Yes.

'Well, you must be a crow, then,' said Brom.

They shared a laugh, and sat together in companionable silence for a while.

'Brom?' Selena said after a while.

'Yes, Selena?'

'I'm sorry. I really am. For what I did.'

'You don't have to be,' said Brom. 'You didn't know what you were doing.'

'Yes I did,' said Selena. 'I knew.'

'What do you mean?'

'I'm a…' her voice changed suddenly. 'I'm not a good woman, Brom. I'm bad. I'm weak and I'm stupid, and I'm…'

'No you're not. Stop that.'

'Yes I am,' said Selena. 'I know it. I know I look good, but that's all I am. After my mother died, I didn't know what to do any more. Where to go. My father expected me to marry, but I didn't want to. I wanted something else, but I didn't know what it was. I tried everything I could think of, but it was all so… empty. They say that's why I went wrong.'

'You didn't, Selena,' said Brom. 'There's nothing wrong with you. You're a good person.'

'Do you know what they call me at court?' Selena asked softly. 'I do.'

Silence.

'They call me Morzan's Mermaid,' said Selena. 'I've heard them do it. I pretend I don't know about it, but I do, and I know what people think of me. They're right.'

A mermaid was a slang word for a prostitute. Brom held her closer. 'People say cruel things. You don't have to believe it.'

Selena closed her eyes. 'But I am. I sleep with men because it's the only thing I know how to do. Even in Carvahall people knew about it. I knew it was wrong, but… I had to do it. I couldn't help myself.'

'It's all right, Selena. Hush. Don't talk about yourself like that. Please.'

She stilled. 'Why?'

'Because it's not right. And you are a good person, Selena, and a brave one. You agreed to help me even though you were frightened for your life, and you have sworn to fight against the forces of evil, even though you know what the dangers are. There are not many people with the courage to do that.'

'I don't want to kill anyone,' said Selena.

'You don't have to. Killing stains a man's soul forever, and no-one should do it unless it was completely necessary. What you'll do… if you can recover this treasure from the King, your name will be honoured forever.'

'Why?' said Selena. 'What is it?'

'It's a dragon's egg,' said Brom. 'One of only three left in the world.'

Selena gasped. 'That was an _egg?'_

'Yes. If it comes into contact with the right person, it will hatch and they will become a rider. That is the only way to save the dragon riders from extinction.'

'The King has been trying for decades,' said Selena. That was common knowledge, at least. Every year Galbatorix had invited young people to come to the castle to handle the dragon's eggs. None had ever succeeded, and once his retreat had begun it had stopped happening.

'Yes, and all we can do is hope he will never succeed. If there is a new order of riders, they must not be under his thrall. It would mean the corruption of our order forever, and the end of all hope for Alagaësia's future. If you can free this egg from the King's clutches, you will be one of the greatest heroes the human race has ever produced.'

'I don't know if I can do it,' said Selena. 'But I'll try. I promise.'

Brom was silent for a time. 'I don't know how I can thank you, Selena. Without your help, we wouldn't have had a chance. With you, we could do what we have worked for so long to do… what I have worked for most of my life to do. You don't know how much it means to me.'

Selena straightened up, pulling away from him slightly. 'I could fail,' she said. 'I could get caught. I could get all of us caught. How can I do this, Brom? I don't know anything about fighting, or tricking people. I'm not brave like you.'

He let go of her. 'But you'll try, Selena. You'll try for us. And I think you'll succeed. You'll find the courage you need, I know you will.'

'How do you know?' Selena asked quietly. She watched him closely, almost desperate to hear his reply.

He touched her cheek and smiled. 'Because I have faith in you, Selena. I have been looking for an answer for so long, and I know you are that answer. I just wish that there was some way I could repay you.'

Selena felt a strange pain in her heart. She leaned toward him and kissed him lightly. 'I want…'

He started a little, but didn't move. 'Yes, Selena?'

Once again, as it had been so many times before, with so many other men, Selena moved in closer to him, letting her warmth and the scent of her skin envelop him. 'Give me another son, Brom,' she whispered. 'I want it.'

He pulled away from her. 'Selena-,'

Selena would not let him go. She put a hand on his shoulder and up onto his neck, caressing his ear and losing her fingers in amongst his greying hair. She kissed him again, and then again, more slowly, and though he resisted at first he slowly began to relax into her. 'Selena…'

She barely heard him. She kissed his neck and his forehead, and then her lips found his and she pushed hard against them, opening her mouth to his. That was when he began to kiss her back, forgetting his doubts in the face of her sudden passion.

Selena could feel his strength, like a kind of magic moving through him and into her, and she whispered her name as she began to wrap her body around his. 'Give me a son, Brom,' she said. 'I want you to… Brom…'


	22. Fighting Shadows

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fighting Shadows

It was not until the day after her disappearance that Selena returned to the castle, alone and unscathed. Her reappearance went almost completely unnoticed by everyone including Morzan, who was still in the empty quarter looking after the King. Selena returned to her bedchamber, ignoring everyone who tried to speak to her, of which there were few. There she rested and cleaned herself up, and put on a new gown. No-one had missed her. She was safe.

Someone knocked on the door. Selena froze. 'Who is it?'

'Grace, from the royal infirmary,' came the reply. 'May I speak with you, my Lady?'

Selena opened the door, and stared blankly at the healer. 'What is it?'

Grace was frowning slightly, but all she said was; 'I was told you had returned from a trip into the city, and I thought you would like to hear about your son.'

Selena's stomach lurched. 'My…?'

'He is out of danger, my Lady. The scar will be deep and is unlikely to ever completely fade, but it should not affect him.'

Ice flooded into Selena's mind. 'He – he's alive?'

'Yes, my Lady. The King was able to save his life.'

'The-?'

'Would you like to see him, my Lady?'

Selena almost shoved her out of the way, and ran ahead of her toward the infirmary. It was a fairly small portion of the castle, divided into several different rooms, including one meant exclusively for the King if he should ever fall ill. Grace showed her to one of the rooms, and there was Murtagh, alive and well, sound asleep and nearly lost in a bed much too large for him.

Selena hurried toward him and stared down at his small face, her heart pounding. Murtagh looked pale and there was a bruise on his forehead, but his breathing was deep and peaceful. He was clutching the little leather dragon in one hand. When Selena touched his forehead he stirred slightly and frowned, but did not wake up.

Tears started to glisten in Selena's eyes. She looked up at the healer who was already in the room. 'Will he…?'

'He is badly traumatised, and he will be scarred for life, but he will survive,' the healer said softly. 'We have been looking for you, my Lady, so that we could give you the news, but no-one seemed to know where you were.'

'I was… visiting the city,' said Selena. 'I did not… I thought he was dead.'

'He will be fine. Lord Morzan brought him to us immediately, and we treated the wound. The King's magic had already stopped the bleeding. You should thank him, my Lady. If he had not acted so quickly, the child would be dead.'

Selena stared blankly at her. 'The King… healed him?'

'Yes, my Lady. With his magic. Not completely, but enough. The Lord Morzan was distraught.'

'Did he tell you what happened?' said Selena.

'Yes, my Lady. A terrible accident; the sword fell off a table and hit the child in the back. Lord Morzan has not visited him many times. The child is frightened of him now.' The healer shook her head. 'A tragic thing to happen to anyone.'

'Where is Lord Morzan now?'

'He is with the King, in the empty quarter. He has asked not to be disturbed.'

'I see,' said Selena. 'Well…' she touched Murtagh, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead, and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. 'I am sorry, Murtagh,' she breathed, so softly that no-one in the room could have heard her. She straightened up. 'Let me know when he awakens.'

'Yes, my Lady.'

Selena returned to her room, head spinning. Murtagh, alive… and they were claiming that the King had been trying to heal him, not kill him.

Her expression hardened. No. She had seen it. It was a lie. Morzan must have stopped him from finishing it, out of pity for his son. He, at least, still had the semblance of a heart. She remembered Brom's words to her, before they had parted. _Don't falter. Don't let yourself feel any doubt or pity, even for a moment. The slightest hesitation could cost us everything. Be brave for me, Selena._

'I will,' she whispered. 'I will.' She had to do it. For Murtagh, to keep him safe from them. And for Brom. And for herself as well.

She knew what she had to do now. She went straight to the door she had used to enter the empty quarter before, and found it guarded as before. 'May I go in?' she asked, trying to keep her voice as level and polite as possible.

The guards instantly blocked her way. 'No, my Lady,' said one. 'No-one is to go in there for any reason.'

'My husband is in there,' said Selena. 'I must see him, to give him news of our son.'

'Sorry, my Lady, but no. Even if we wanted to, the door is sealed with magic. And I'd advise against trying any of the others; they are the same.'

Selena had been expecting something like this, and nodded resignedly. 'Very well. If you see Lord Morzan, tell him I said our son is well.'

'I will, my Lady.'

Selena left, thinking carefully. There had to be another way in. A window, perhaps? No. She would be far too visible, and, besides, they would almost certainly be blocked with magic as well. The doors were out of the question, inside or out. What other ways in were there? Through one of the cellars, maybe? But she didn't know where any of them were, and, again, any entrances leading upward into the empty quarter would be sealed, even if she could find them.

What, then? Brom had told her not to try anything rash. If there wasn't an easy and inconspicuous way to get in, then she should simply leave it and explore the outer doors for one that was easy to get to. Through a courtyard, maybe.

But, as she walked back toward her room, deep in thought, another possibility occurred to her. She stopped suddenly in her tracks and clasped her hands together, thinking it over. Maybe if she went up onto the ramparts, she could get onto the part of them that were directly above the empty quarter, and perhaps find a door that wasn't sealed. It had to be worth a try, and if anyone asked questions she could simply say she wanted to enjoy the view. That was hardly a crime.

Selena nodded to herself. It could work. She walked off toward the nearest of the guard towers. There was no door here; just a doorway, leading to the stairs. It was unguarded, and she went straight up the stairs without being challenged. At the top there was a door; a simple metal grate, and it swung open without much difficulty. But it emerged into the guardroom in the top of the tower. There were a group of guards there, eating lunch, and they turned toward her as soon as she appeared.

One got up. 'What are you doing up here, my Lady?'

Selena's breath caught in her throat, but she forced herself to keep calm. 'I've come up to look at the view. May I?'

The guard shrugged. 'By all means, my Lady. You took me by surprise, that's all.'

Selena smiled sweetly. 'Thankyou. I won't trouble you any further.' She made for the door that led to the Northern quarter of the walls, but one of the guards immediately stood up and went ahead of her. She stopped, thinking she was in trouble, but the man only opened the door for her. 'There you go, my Lady. 'The views are really quite spectacular. And you can see the King's dragon, too.'

Selena stepped through, holding back the huge sigh that wanted to escape from her, and the guard closed the door behind her.

The Northern walls were deserted. In peacetime the guards generally kept to the comfort of their towers and were not overly strict about patrolling the walls themselves. After all, it was hardly likely that there would be any attacking armies on the horizon in the near future.

Selena walked along the parapet, unmolested, enjoying the feeling of the wind in her hair. It was a chilly day; autumn was coming, and the sky was clear pale blue and the air crisp. She followed the wall, looking for any sign of a door. Nothing. But there would have to be one in the Northernmost guard tower. As she headed toward it, she could see that there were guards in there, and frowned unhappily. They would be bound to ask questions. Still, if she played the fool and asked to use the door, they would doubtless tell her if it was sealed or not. Maybe it wasn't. Just in case there was an emergency and they needed to get into the castle in a hurry. Selena knew they wouldn't take her seriously. She was just another empty-headed young noblewoman, asking stupid questions. Not even a noblewoman, come to that. And a sweet and innocent smile would do the trick nine times out of ten.

She headed for the tower with a certain amount of confidence, and found the guards chatting amongst themselves and sharing some wine. They looked up when she entered.

'Hello, what's this? What are you doing here… my Lady?'

Selena did her best to look vapid. 'I was looking at the view,' she said. 'But it's cold up here… I wanted to go back into the castle. I couldn't find any other doors.'

The guard gestured at the door she'd come through. 'Just go back the way you came. The lads in the Eastern tower should let you use their door.'

Selena glanced toward the grate and the stairwell beyond it. 'Can't I just use that one?'

'I'm afraid not, my Lady. It's been sealed up. Even we can't use it.'

Selena's heart sank. 'But what if there was an emergency?'

'We'd have to use the next tower along,' said the guard. 'I'm not about to disobey the King's orders.'

'Oh,' said Selena. 'I see. I'll go, then.'

'You can stay here, if you'd like,' one guard said pleasantly. 'It's warm enough in here, and I wouldn't mind someone to chat to. What's your name?'

'Selena Violetsdaughter,' said Selena.

'I knew a girl called Selena once,' said the guard. 'It's a nice name. Would you like to sit down?' he offered her a chair.

Selena sat, carefully arranging her skirts. 'It's nice up here,' she said. 'You can see the whole city.'

'That's the idea of a guard tower, my Lady,' the guard said, smiling. 'It's all right, I suppose. A pretty boring job, but the pay's not bad. So you're Lord Morzan's wife, are you?'

Selena nodded. 'He brought me here with him from Gil'ead.'

'And how d'you like Urû'baen, my Lady?' said another guard. 'Is it as grand as you expected?'

'I like it,' said Selena. 'I expected it to be bigger, but I didn't think it would be so fine.'

'It's a great old city,' the first guard agreed. 'I've lived here all me life. What's Gil'ead like, though? Never been there myself. Thought about it, though. There's always plenty of jobs for a guardsman there, what with the elves being so close. I heard Lord Morzan likes to have plenty of soldiers around, in case they decide to come out of that forest of theirs.'

'I've never seen an elf,' said Selena.

'That doesn't surprise me, my Lady. I doubt anyone's seen one in nearly a century. The other day someone told me there aren't any left. Said they'd gone off over the sea somewhere. Balderdash, I reckon, but who cares? S'long as they keep to themselves they're none of our concern.'

'I heard they wanted to trade with us again,' said another guard. 'But the King wouldn't allow it. He hates elves. I'm surprised he didn't wipe them all out in the war, when he invaded Du Weldenvarden.'

Selena paused. 'Is the King really mad?' she asked.

They were silent for a time.

'I never saw anything,' one guard said eventually.

'You know what I think?' said another. 'I don't think he's mad. I think he's too sane.'

'What the hell, Norb? How can someone be "too sane"?' his friend demanded.

'I mean like, too rational. You know? Like where you do what's logical all the time but you don't let yourself feel anything? That's what I mean. But he's not a loony. No way.'

'Yeah, sure,' said the first. 'So locking himself up for three years and not coming out even to eat – that's sane, is it?'

'I dunno what that's all about,' said Norb. 'But he always did keep to himself a lot. Did all his writing in his room. It's not that much of a difference.'

'I still say it's strange,' the first guard insisted. 'It's just not normal, you know? I reckon he's just scared.'

'Of what?'

'The Varden, maybe? It was right after Lord Tuomas got killed, after all. Guess he thought he was next, maybe?'

'Yeah… could be that.' Norb glanced at Selena. 'Have you ever seen the King, my Lady?'

'Yes,' said Selena. 'For a short time.'

'And what did _you_ think of him, my Lady? If you don't mind my asking.'

She hesitated for a long time over her reply. 'I did not think he was mad,' she lied eventually. Saying what she really thought would be a truly bad idea. 'So no-one can get into the empty quarter at all? Not even you?'

Norb shook his head. 'Not a soul goes in or out. Well… except for the Lord Morzan, of course. All the doors and windows have got spells to stop anyone opening them. I should know. I helped Lord Walden when he tried to force a way in. Not a damn thing worked. The King's safe in there, at least.'

'I dunno about that,' said a third guard. 'Still an' all, I'm sure he'll be fine.'

'Hey, you know what _I_ heard the other day?' said Norb.

'No, what?'

Norb paused to pour himself some wine. 'I heard there's a secret passage what leads into the castle.'

'Oh, sure,' the third guard snorted.

'No, really. Grayson, from down the dungeons, he said he found an entrance hidden in that old cell they don't use any more. Said there was a passage on the other side.'

'Oh yeah? Where'd it lead to, then?'

'Dunno, he said he didn't go very far along it. But he reckoned it went a fair way. Said there were other passages branching off it. He could tell no-one'd been down there in a long time.' Norb grinned. 'Anyway, he said he doesn't plan on telling anyone about it. Says he can use it to hide booze for when he needs some comfort.' He remembered Selena was there, and looked embarrassed. 'Uh… not wishing to offend you, my Lady.'

She smiled on him. 'It's fine. Do go on.'

'Well anyway, I wonder who made it?' said Norb. 'Wouldn't mind going and having a look at it, actually. See if it goes anywhere interesting. Wonder if maybe a prisoner used it to escape?'

'He must've been a giant mole, if that's the case,' said the third guard. 'There's at least three miles of dirt to dig through if you want to get out of there.'

Selena noticed the sun was getting low outside. She stood up. 'I should probably go. My husband is expecting me for dinner.'

'As you wish, my Lady,' said Norb, standing up to help her out. 'But feel free to come and visit us again. It's always good to have some company up here.'

She smiled. 'Thankyou.'

'Not a problem. Have a good evening, my Lady.'

Selena nodded and walked out back onto the parapet. She headed back toward the Eastern guard tower, but paused at about the halfway point to look out over the city. It looked tiny from up here, and she looked down on the houses and wondered where Brom was now. Was he frightened? The thought of him made her feel better, and she smiled. They had slept in each other's arms that night, and she could still remember the feeling of his body against hers. Thin, but strong.

Selena stopped suddenly. Something strange was happening. She turned, but there was no-one around. And yet she could feel a presence. She clutched at her head. It felt wrong. Somehow… crowded. And then…

'_Selena?'_

Selena almost screamed. But before she could make a sound a presence had appeared in her mind, wrapping itself around her like a giant hand. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, and she started to panic, but somehow the presence made her stay calm.

'_Be still,'_ the voice said. _'Don't be afraid. You're in no danger.'_

Selena stood still. 'What…? What's happening? Who is that?'

'_It's me, Selena. Idün. I'm speaking to you, that's all.'_

Selena turned around and saw Idün not too far away, on the dragon roost. The red dragon's head was turned toward her.

'_Are you all right?'_ the voice in her head asked.

'I'm fine,' said Selena.

'_I cannot hear you,'_ Idün said gently. _'Think the words and I will hear them.'_

Selena concentrated. _I – am – fine,_ she thought, sounding the words out in her head as carefully as she could.

Idün chuckled. _'There's no need to shout. Where have you been, Selena?'_

Selena thought about having gone into the city, not knowing if Idün would see it. A moment later she suddenly felt something strange. Like she had just realised something. But it wasn't _her_.

'_I see,'_ said Idün. _'Well, I am not surprised. You were very frightened, and…'_

Selena suddenly felt ashamed.

'_I am sorry,'_ said Idün. _'For what Morzan did. He is not a bad person, but he has a weakness for drink, and he can't control his temper. But you made him angry. It was not just his fault.'_

Now Selena felt stern and reproachful. No. No she didn't. She felt it, but it wasn't _her_ feeling it…

'_You are feeling my emotions,'_ Idün explained. _'But you do know that it was your fault as much as Morzan's, don't you?'_

_Yes,_ Selena thought, lowering her head.

'_He says you tried to seduce the King,'_ said Idün. _'Is that true?'_

Selena closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on it not being true. It was just a misunderstanding. She tried to re-visualise what had happened, to make it look like something other than what it had been, hoping it would deceive the dragon.

Idün was not fooled. _'You are a fool, Selena Violetsdaughter. What you did was inexcusable. Can't you control yourself? Well? Morzan is in agonies over what he did. If you had not disobeyed him, it wouldn't have happened. What did you think you were doing? This isn't a game. The King is not a man to be trifled with. He resisted the charms of a Surdan princess – what made you think you could make him let you betray Morzan?'_

_I don't know,_ Selena thought.

She sensed kindness from Idün. _'Well,'_ the dragon said more kindly. _'I suppose you are very young. And the King is handsome, for a human. Other women have tried to win his heart in the past and failed. But you must apologise to him, and to Morzan as well.'_

Selena's mind raced. _Where is Morzan?_ she thought carefully.

'_He is with the King, right under me,'_ said Idün.

_Can I go to him?_ Selena thought.

'_You can't go into the empty quarter,'_ said Idün.

_But I have to apologise to the King,_ Selena thought, sounding each word out carefully to make sure the dragon didn't miss them. _He won't come out, will he?_

Silence. _'No…'_ Idün said at length.

_I have been trying to get in all day,_ Selena thought, suddenly struck by a brainwave. _I wanted to apologise, but the guards would not let me in._

Idün paused again. Selena thought she could feel the dragon thinking. It was a truly bizarre sensation. She considered what to do next, and then tried imagining a picture of Idün carrying her to the top of the dragon roost so she could go down through the trapdoor, which was still open.

It worked. _'You want me to help you get in there?'_ said Idün.

_Yes,_ Selena thought. _If…_ she broke off, and imagined herself in Galbatorix's bedroom, saying sorry to him and Morzan.

More silence. This time it went on so long that Selena started to become restless and wonder if she should give up and leave. But then Idün suddenly moved on the dragon roost, standing up straight. _'Hold still,'_ she said. _'I will pick you up. Don't be afraid; I won't hurt you, I promise.'_

Selena froze to the spot, her heart pounding. She didn't like the sound of that.

Idün came toward her until she was standing on the very edge of the dragon roost, and then stretched her neck out toward her. She was just able to reach the wall, and Selena flinched at the sight of the dragon's head looming over her. Idün paused a moment, and then neatly picked her up in her jaws and withdrew, lifting her up off the wall. Selena dangled, her head and shoulders engulfed by the dragon's jaws, crying out in fear.

Idün withdrew quickly back onto the dragon roost and put her down with astonishing delicacy. Selena found her feet again, grabbing hold of Idün's snout for balance, which the dragon patiently let her do.

Selena caught her breath and examined herself for injuries. There were none, though her dress was a little damp and there was a slight tear from one of Idün's teeth. She was bruised, but there was no broken skin. Idün had plucked her off the wall as if she were a piece of soft fruit.

'Thankyou,' she managed.

Idün inclined her head. Her voice had vanished from Selena's mind, along with her presence, and now she nodded silently toward the trapdoor. It was open. Shruikan was there, sound asleep, and Selena went to the trapdoor peered down through it.

The door to Galbatorix's bedroom was open, but she couldn't hear anything. She glanced up at Idün, who was watching her expectantly, and then breathed in deeply and began to climb down the ladder. If she delayed any longer Idün would become suspicious.

Selena stepped down onto the floor inside the tower as quietly as she could, and pressed herself against the wall, listening. Not a sound.

After a while, she dared to inch forward and peek through the open door.

Morzan wasn't there. Galbatorix was lying in his hammock, apparently asleep.

A little of Selena's confidence returned. She stayed where she was for a long time, watching him, and when he did not move she finally decided he had to be asleep.

She glanced toward the wall, where the chest stood. It was so close. She could just go in there and open it…

Galbatorix stirred in his hammock, and Selena's blood ran cold. But he only moved very slightly before he sighed and relaxed again.

Selena breathed deeply. He was no danger to her while he was asleep. If she was going to steal the egg, it had to be now.

_No faltering,_ Brom's voice whispered in her ear.

Selena's resolve hardened. She stepped forward into the room, placing each foot carefully. The black fire was still burning, and she let it light her way as she moved slowly – ever so slowly – toward the chest. She stopped every few steps to glance at Galbatorix, but now she saw him more closely she saw that his eyes were closed. He looked even paler and thinner than before, and she suddenly remembered how clumsy he had been in the library. His retreat must have weakened him. She wished she had told Brom.

Selena pulled herself together. The slower she moved the longer she would be in the room, and the greater the chances of Galbatorix waking up and seeing her.

She tiptoed the rest of the way to the chest and knelt by it, placing herself on the far side of it in the hopes of using it to hide behind if she had to. The lid looked very heavy – she lifted the latches slowly and carefully, afraid they might creak, paused to check on Galbatorix again, and then lifted the lid.

It came easily enough, though she had to shuffle around in front of it in order to lift it properly. The hinges made no sound, and she smiled triumphantly and pulled it up the rest of the way.

It was a mistake. The lid swung back and hit the wall with a thump, shattering the muffled silence of the bedroom.

Selena's heart seemed to slam itself against her ribs. She dived to hide behind the chest, crunching herself up as small as possible, and stayed there for a good three minutes, heart pounding.

Galbatorix frowned in his sleep, and the fingers of one hand moved. 'Look after them, Skade,' he mumbled.

But he did not wake, and Selena almost laughed aloud. She raised herself again and reached into the chest, peering at its contents in the dim light. There wasn't much in there: a large roll of leather that had to be a dragon saddle, an empty scabbard, a few belts and a collection of small bottles of what looked like medicine. Selena reached in among all this and felt the bottom of the chest, looking for some hole or hook she could use to lift it out. Nothing, and she tried the back edge. Her heart leapt when her forefinger suddenly slid down through a hole in the bottom of the chest, right at the very edge where it met the side. She pulled her finger out and felt around; there were three holes, each one big enough for a finger. Selena checked on Galbatorix again, and then began to move the contents of the chest toward the front, to get it out of the way. The medicine bottles clinked a little when they knocked together, but not loudly enough to wake the slumbering King.

Once she had cleared the back half of the chest, Selena steadied the contents with one hand and thrust the fingers of the other hand into the holes. Once she had a grip, she lifted as carefully as she could.

The false bottom came up, tilting forward and tipping the chest's contents forward. Selena kept on lifting until she could get a hand through, and then reached in underneath it. After a moment of groping around her fingers brushed against cloth, and she pushed her arm in further until she could grasp it. She gritted her teeth and pulled.

The bundle came, and she tugged it through the gap, though it took both hands to do so. And then, at last, it was in her grasp. She pulled the cloth aside, and sure enough, there was the gleaming blue surface of the egg.

Selena put it down beside her and hastily pushed the false bottom back into place, covering it up again. She checked on Galbatorix again and closed the lid, jamming her arm in the way to stop it from slamming. Then she stood up, clutching the egg to her chest. It was heavier than she had thought.

The door looked like it was a mile away, but Selena got there with scarcely a sound. She paused in the doorway, looking back at Galbatorix. He slept on, oblivious.

Selena slipped through the door and ran away down the stairs, giddy with relief. She didn't stop until she had reached the empty servant's quarters, and there shut herself in one of the rooms and sat down, panting.

Her head was spinning. _I did it! I _did_ it!_

She unwrapped the egg and turned it over in her hands, admiring its smooth, glossy shell. It didn't look like any kind of egg she had ever seen. When she tapped it with her fingernails, it made a strange chiming sound.

Selena stroked it. 'So beautiful,' she breathed.

And so precious.

She wrapped it up in its cloth again and stood up, trying to hide it inside her cloak. She had to get out of the empty quarter without being seen… but how? The dragon roost again? Never. Idün would be instantly suspicious, and would never take her back to the wall. She would ask Morzan if he had seen her, and when he said no the game would be up.

She had to find another way.

As Selena wandered through the empty quarter, looking for an exit, her triumph started to give way to despair. She felt like a fool. She had thought she was so clever in tricking Idün to let her in, but all she had done was imprison herself. There was no way out of here. All she could do was wander around here until Galbatorix or Morzan found her, and then… the dungeons. Torture. They would make her tell them about Brom, and the Varden. She knew well enough what happened to traitors.

Selena closed her eyes. 'Oh gods…'

But Brom's face rose up in her mind again. _No faltering._

Selena breathed deeply. 'No,' she muttered to herself. 'No. Don't panic. Think. Think…'

Perhaps she could hide the egg somewhere, and then let Morzan find her and just go along with what Idün had said. He couldn't kill her for that.

But he would ask her where she had been. And then he would lock her out of the empty quarter, and how would she get the egg back then? She had no bag and no pockets to hide it in. How long would it be before it was missed?

Selena spent most of that night wandering the empty quarter, trying to find a way out. It was futile. Every door was locked, every window barred. There was no sign of anyone anywhere, and Brom would be expecting her to contact him soon.

In the end she settled down in the library to rest and try to think. The fire burning in the grate was a black one, and its warmth comforted her a little. She looked at the fireplace. Could she climb out of the chimney?

No. The idea was ridiculous. But were there any other spaces like that? Small spaces, where people didn't go.

Selena sat still with the egg nestled in her lap, mulling it over. Rats got in and out of places like this with ease. They didn't use doors or windows. They got in through other ways. Holes. Entrances. Secret passages.

Passages. Yes, that was it. Passages. Underground passages. You could come up through the floor, and no-one would expect it.

Selena clutched the egg more tightly. Of course! _Underground,_ that was it. There had to be wine cellars and catacombs underneath her feet. Nobody ever went down there. Why, then, would the King block _those_ doors? If she could find a way down there, she could at least hide for a time. It had to work.

Selena stood up. Only one way to find out.


	23. It Was His Wyrd To Fail

Chapter Twenty-Three

"It Was His Wyrd To Fail…"

Night in Urû'baen. There were plenty of people around in the streets. Urû'baen was a night city, of sorts. Torches were kept burning in the public places at all times, and anyone up and about after dark could find their way around easily enough.

But in other parts of the city – where people lived – there were no torches. Only the light from the windows. It was in one of those areas – in the poorest part of the city, where few could afford even a candle – that people went who did not want to be seen.

A shadow moved along one of these grubby streets now, almost completely silent in the night. It kept its face covered and stayed away from the main streets, and it knew exactly where it was going. Its senses, far stronger than those of a human, showed it the way in the dark – by scent and by sound, like a wolf on the hunt.

When it reached its destination, it stopped suddenly and tucked itself away in the entrance to an alley. It was right on the edge of one of the city's squares, where there were several inns and taverns. Plenty of people were in the area, but none of them were aware of the shadow's presence.

It waited silently, scarcely breathing.

Time passed, and there was no sign of anyone. No sign of the stupid whore coming to keep her promise.

The shadow started to worry. Entrusting anything so important to the girl had been a serious misstep on Brom's part. There was no way she could be relied on. Either she had changed her mind or she had bungled the mission and been caught. Inevitable. The shadow had said as much, and coldly faced Brom's anger. 'She can do it,' he'd insisted.

Humans. They were all the same.

The shadow was on the point of leaving when it suddenly saw someone coming through the crowd. It froze, staring. It was Selena. She was plainly dressed and wore a thick cloak, and there was a bag hanging from her shoulder. The shadow waited, astonished.

Selena moved confidently enough, glancing around her. No-one there paid much attention to her. She came on until she was by the building closest to where the shadow waited, and there she stopped, leaning against the wall and watching the crowd.

She was silent for a time, one hand clasping the bag. Then she spoke, in a low voice. '_Ír… koma einn… eđa… vin- vinátta_.'

The shadow knew what that meant. It was the code Brom had got her to memorise before he sent her on her mission. "I come alone and in friendship" – if Selena was here under coercion, or if she was aware of having been followed, she would not have been able to say it.

The shadow edged its way toward her until it was on the very edge of the light. 'I hear you,' it murmured, loud enough for Selena to hear. 'Come.'

Selena started and looked directly at the shadow, but then darted around the corner. The shadow caught hold of her arm and pulled her into its hiding place. 'Keep still,' it hissed.

Selena obeyed. She could only just see her new companion's outline. 'Where's-?'

'Quiet!'

The shadow peered out into the square, making sure no-one had noticed what had happened. All was calm.

The shadow turned to Selena. 'You will come with me. Do not speak. Stay out of the light. Understood?'

'Yes,' said Selena.

The shadow said no more. It darted away into the alley.

Selena had to run to keep up with it; it moved astonishingly fast and silently. It was like trying to chase a cat. The shadow stopped and waited for her every so often, which was just as well; several times she thought she had lost it, only to find it standing patiently at a crossroads, nearly invisible.

Their journey ended at a trapdoor tucked away in a tiny courtyard, in an area where several houses had been abandoned. The shadow gestured at Selena to wait by one wall, and then thumped the heel of its boot on the trapdoor, six times in quick succession.

Nothing happened for a few moments, and then the trapdoor opened. The shadow jumped nimbly down through it, and Selena followed, holding the bag to her chest.

The space underneath the trapdoor was tiny; only just big enough to accommodate both them and the ladder. A single candle was burning in a niche in the wall, and here, at last, Selena could see her guide – a tall, thin shape, shrouded in a hood.

The figure climbed back up the ladder to close the trapdoor, and then slid back down to join Selena. There was a door directly in front of them, and the figure knocked on it.

'_Rétta frœđi_,' it said in a low voice.

Silence, and then a reply came back. '_Enda vándr_.'

The door opened inward. The figure stepped through, followed by Selena.

The room was another cellar, but of a good size. Barrels had been stacked in it, but most of them were dusty and several had fallen apart. The place must have been abandoned.

As Selena entered, four cloaked figures who had been waiting for them relaxed and stepped forward, lowering the weapons they had been holding ready.

One of them came straight toward Selena, pulling back its hood. 'Selena!'

'Brom!'

They embraced and kissed, but almost before they had parted Selena pulled the bag from her shoulder and started to open it. 'I got it!' she said. 'Brom, I got the egg!'

The egg gleamed in the candlelight, like a piece of solidified sky. Brom took it, wide-eyed. 'Oh my gods! Selena, I don't believe it!'

His friends rushed over to see it for themselves, uttering exclamations of astonishment and joy.

'Give it to me,' said the one who had brought Selena. The voice was female, and commanding.

Brom handed it over at once. The figure clasped it; her hands were long and delicate, and gripped the egg as if it weighed nothing. She took off her hood, revealing a fine-boned face with pale skin and green, slanted eyes. And, as the woman stared unreadably at the egg, Selena noticed with a shock that her ears were pointed.

'Oh my gods! You're an-!'

'Quiet!' Brom hissed, grabbing her arm. 'You never know who could be listening.'

'We're safe enough here, Brom,' said one of the others, removing his own hood. He was human, and fairly young. He turned to Selena. 'Name's Jeod,' he said. 'I'm pleased to meet you.'

Selena barely glanced at him or his other human companion. She was staring at the elf, transfixed. Plenty of people talked about elves, and she had heard hundreds of accounts of them, but she had never imagined that she would ever meet one, or that it would be like this.

The elf looked up at her. 'Selena Violetsdaughter,' she said softly. 'You have done us a great service in retrieving this from the King's clutches. My people thank you.'

Selena caught her breath and curtsied to her. 'It is an honour to meet you,' she said.

The elf did not smile. She looked at Brom. 'You were right to trust this girl.'

Brom smiled at Selena. 'I knew you could do it, Selena. I knew I could trust you.'

'For you,' Selena said without embarrassment.

Brom glanced around at his friends. 'Let's sit down and let Selena tell us what she has discovered and how she did this.'

They seated themselves on various makeshift stools in the form of overturned barrels, and Selena sat beside Brom, keeping close to him. Brom's companions were looking at her with a great deal of respect – with the exception of the elf, whose face remained dispassionate and detached in a way that reminded her unpleasantly of Galbatorix.

'So tell me,' said Brom. 'How did you do this?'

'I stole it from the King's room,' said Selena.

'How did you get in there?'

'I persuaded Morzan's dragon to help me. You see…'

Selena explained. Brom listened in astonishment, as did Jeod and his unnamed companion.

'You were foolish,' the elf interrupted. 'A rider's dragon is never out of contact with him. Morzan will know what you did. You took an obscenely great risk.'

'It worked, didn't it?' Selena said boldly. 'I got out. No-one saw me.'

'Well how did you get into the King's bedroom?' said Brom, probably sensing the looming argument. The elf was looking highly displeased.

'The door was open,' said Selena. 'Morzan had already left. The King was in there, but he was asleep.'

'_What?_' said Brom. 'You took the egg while he was _there?_'

'Yes. He never woke up.'

'Selena, you-,'

'Idiot!' the elf burst forth. 'You thought you could enter the King's bedchamber, while he was there, and escape without waking him? This is not courage, this is stupidity, plain and simple.' She had begun angrily, but by the end her voice had become icily contemptuous.

'Arya, please,' said Brom. 'Selena knew the risks.' He looked at her admiringly. 'And she succeeded. Some risks are worth taking. Still… it was an extremely dangerous thing to do. You were very lucky.'

'I am not afraid of the King,' Selena boasted. She did not like the looks the elf was giving her.

'Then you are a fool,' the elf said at once. 'No-one with the full command of their wits would be unafraid of him.'

'I think he's ill,' said Selena. 'When I saw him he was thin and pale, and he moved slowly. And he had a cough. Morzan seemed worried about him.'

The others exchanged glances. 'This is good news,' said Brom. 'If the King is weak… so how did you escape?'

'I found a secret passage,' said Selena. 'One of the guards mentioned one, so I went looking for it. I found an entrance in the catacombs. There's a tunnel that leads all the way out of the city and into the forest. That's where I came out. I had to walk back.'

'Perfect!' Brom exclaimed. 'Absolutely perfect! Selena, will you show us this passage?'

'Of course I will,' said Selena.

Brom stood up. 'Who's coming with me?'

'You mean to go in there?' said Arya.

'Of course I do,' said Brom. 'Arya, we'll never get another chance like this. A safe way in and out of the castle, and the King is sick and unguarded.'

'But if you're caught-,'

'What will it matter?' said Brom. 'All I have to do is get to him. I'll put a dagger through his heart before he even wakes up.'

'I'll come with you,' Jeod said immediately.

'So will I,' said his friend.

Arya sighed. 'I suppose I must come as well.'

Brom shook his head. 'No, Arya. We can't risk losing you. You must go back to Ellesméra and take the egg to your mother. Hanh, will you go with her?'

The man nodded. 'I'd prefer to stay and help you, but… yes, I'll go.'

'No,' said Arya. 'I will not let you do this alone. You will need my skills. And if the half-breed must die tonight, then I will be there to see it.'

'"Half-breed"?' Selena repeated, bemused.

Arya glanced at her. 'Yes. The King is a half-breed. Few know it any more, but the elves have always known.'

'But… half-breed what?' said Selena.

'He's half elvish,' said Brom.

'What?'

'_Dark_ elvish,' Arya corrected haughtily. 'The blood of my race does not run in his veins.'

'What's a dark elf?' said Selena.

'A cursed race. They are long gone. Rightfully destroyed by the riders of old. But their blood lives on in the King, and their evil magic as well. That is how he came to be cast out from the riders, when his secret was uncovered, and that is why he hates my race.'

'Elf…' said Selena. 'So that's why he looks like that.'

'Half-breeds are unnatural creatures,' said Arya. 'In the past, elf and human have interbred. But it is forbidden, and the offspring were always killed, along with the parents. The King survived because of a mistake, and that mistake cost us dearly.'

Brom looked troubled. 'I really don't want you to come with us, Arya. Your mother-,'

'Leave me to deal with her,' said Arya. 'You cannot dissuade me. I will see the half-breed die with my own eyes. It is as much my vengeance as it is yours.'

Brom nodded. 'All right then. Hanh, you'll have to take the egg to Ellesméra yourself. Jeod, you go with him.'

'But Brom-!'

'I'm sorry, Jeod, but two are much less conspicuous than three and you should keep safe. I'll meet you in Gil'ead. Selena… you have to leave the city. Go to Teirm. It's a big city, with plenty of places to hide. I will give you money. Find somewhere to lie low there. I will come and find you if I can, but if I don't, go back to Carvahall. You'll be safe there.'

Selena had known something like this was going to happen, and she nodded unhappily. 'I understand.'

'Good. Now let's go. Are you ready to show us to this passage, Selena?'

'I am.'

Brom nodded to his companions, and they snuffed the candles and filed out of the room, one by one, climbing back up the ladder and out through the trapdoor, pulling their hoods back up as they went.

A few moments later they were running away and out into the city.

They left the city without too much trouble; Selena had found a crumbled hole in one of its outer walls on her way back in, and they slipped out through it and entered the countryside that lay around it. There were still trees around the city, left untouched by a decree from Galbatorix himself. Selena led them in among them, and after a search which became a little anxious she found the little dell where the entrance to the secret passage was hidden by a thick growth of blackberry bushes. She pulled those aside, using a stick to avoid the thorns, and showed them the dark space beyond.

'There. It opens up once you get inside.'

Brom poked his head in and had a look around, and withdrew looking solemn. 'Well then,' he said. 'This is where we part.'

There was silence for a time, and then Jeod embraced his friend fiercely. 'You look after yourself, you hear? I don't want anything to happen to you.'

Brom clapped him on the shoulder. 'I'll be fine. We've done this before, remember?'

Hanh was equally concerned. 'I'd give anything to come with you,' he said, hugging Brom quickly. 'But… well, you be careful, all right? We can't afford to lose you.'

'I will protect him,' Arya put in with a slight smile.

'I've no doubt you will, my Lady,' said Jeod. 'If I had to pick anyone to look after our Brom, it would be you.'

Selena clasped Brom's hands. 'I don't want to lose you,' she said.

He kissed her on the forehead. 'You won't. I swear, you'll see me again. And when you do, Alagaësia will be free. I will kill Morzan along with his master, and avenge your son.'

Selena suddenly felt sick. She had forgotten all about Murtagh. Would he be all right in the castle, without her? _I'll come back for you,_ she thought.

She clasped Brom to her, never wanting to let him go. 'Be brave, Brom. Never stop fighting.'

'I won't,' he whispered. 'I promise.'

When he let go of her, it felt all too soon. He kissed her again, clapped Jeod and Hanh on the shoulder once more and then turned and ducked into the tunnel, where he vanished.

Arya followed him without a word.

Selena climbed out of the dell without saying anything, but suddenly became aware that there were tears on her face. She gave the bag containing the egg to Jeod. 'Here,' she mumbled. 'Look after it.'

'I will, my Lady,' he said. 'And thankyou. I hope we can meet again some day.'

He and Hanh nodded formally to her and ran away through the trees and were gone.

Selena didn't move for a long time. She looked toward the dell and the thorny brush that hid the tunnel that had taken Brom, and then sat down with her back to a tree and began to sob. 'Come back to me,' she whispered. 'Come back, Brom. Please.'

Brom followed the tunnel using the wall to navigate at first, not daring to summon up a magical light. In the end it was Arya who muttered a word and created a pale green glow to show them the way.

They walked on a little faster, neither one speaking.

Brom thought about Selena to comfort himself and take his mind off the danger. He remembered her last embrace, and her voice in his ears, whispering his name.

He wondered if he loved her. The truth was that he had developed something of an affection for her back in Carvahall, and had thought of her as a friend, in spite of her reputation. Her open and honest interest in him had warmed him toward her, especially after so many years lived in anonymity, and he had privately admitted to himself that, had he been younger, he would have pursued her. When he had found out about her pursuit of and supposed marriage to Morzan, he had felt betrayed. In fact, his anger had been so out of proportion that he had wondered if his affection for her ran deeper than he had realised. Perhaps, deep down, he had thought of her as almost a partner, and the idea that she had gone with Morzan meant that he had stolen her from him. Or maybe it was just the thought of her having placed herself in Morzan's power and living in his brutal shadow. So helpless.

When he had kidnapped her, though, he had done it with little remorse. Seeing her wearing those fine clothes, knowing she had willingly bedded Morzan, made him hate her. But he had softened toward her when they spoke, and even more so the more he learned about her miserable existence, and he had realised that it was not her fault, not really. After all… what more could a girl do if she was pregnant and unwedded but go after the man who had fathered her child? And Morzan had provided for her son, at least at first.

Brom half-wished he hadn't slept with her. She had thrown herself at him so suddenly, and so passionately, as if his kindness and sympathy were some kind of powerful magic that she needed as a flower needs sunshine. His reluctance had somehow ceased to matter in the face of that… and he was lonely. He knew he was lonely. He needed to be comforted as much as she did. And so he had thrown his doubts aside and given her what she needed from him. What they both needed.

He hoped he would see her again.

Arya had halted. Brom came to join her. The tunnel had reached a dead end. Or it almost had. Arya's light showed them a huge stone slab that partially blocked the way – evidently Selena had moved it to get through. Brom silently moved past the elf and squeezed through the gap. He fitted without too much trouble, though the edge of the slab left a large graze on his arm. He healed it with a quick spell while he waited for Arya to join him, which she did without any apparent effort.

The two of them looked around. They were in a stone-lined passage now, this one much larger than the one they had used to reach it. There were rusting torch holders on the walls, and the place was cool and dry. 'Where are we?' he wondered aloud.

'I think I know,' said Arya.

They set out along the passage, following the faint trail Selena's feet had left in the dust. It went a long way, and it did not remain featureless forever. It widened after a while, and Arya halted again and turned silently, letting her light fall over the wall beside her. Brom came to see it, and breathed in deeply. It was a carving, very old and worn, of a tall elf holding a sword. Beside her was a dragon.

Brom ran his fingers over the stone. 'The catacombs,' he muttered. 'It's got to be.'

Arya nodded. 'And tonight we shall see to it that two more of these tombs are sealed.'

They hurried on, aware of the need to reach their destination quickly.

Brom had only been into the catacombs once, nearly a hundred years ago, and it gave him a chill to see them again now. Endless rows of carvings; human, elf and dragon, their stone eyes staring into the distance. All sealed long ago, and their occupants rotted away. He even recognised a few of them.

One of them was his own.

He stopped to look at it. The carving was of his teenage self; tall and lanky, with an honest, open smile. Beside him was Saphira, his dead dragon, her mouth open to roar.

The dark opening below his old self's carving looked very deep. Brom summoned his own magical light and crouched to look into it, breathing in the smell of dust.

'Brom, we cannot wait,' Arya's voice interrupted.

Brom, though, had thrust his arm into the tomb. He pulled something out and straightened up, examining it in bewilderment. 'What…?' It wasn't anything much. Just a few dried stalks of dead plants, tied together. A few faded petals still clung to one of them. 'Flowers?' Brom muttered.

'Brom!' Arya said sharply. 'I am sure those dead plants are fascinating, but we have work to do.'

'Yes, yes, I'm coming.' Brom dropped the dry stalks and ran to catch up with her.

The tomb next to his own was also open. The carving was of a heavy-set young man with a square jaw. He wore a slightly puzzled frown, as if he were struggling with some question he didn't know the answer to.

Brom felt as if something had hit him hard in the chest. He turned away and ran on without looking at it again.

Their journey finally ended at the base of a flight of stairs, which led up to a door that was hanging ajar. Brom and Arya paused to pull their hoods more firmly over their faces, drew their daggers and climbed the stairs, letting their light fade until it was barely visible; just the barest amount to let them see.

Brom went first. He emerged into an empty, musty-smelling room. No sign of anyone anywhere. When Arya joined him, he made mental contact with her. _'Which way is North?'_

Arya silently pointed, and they set out through the empty quarter.

Just as Selena had said, it was utterly deserted and obviously had been for a long time. They relaxed a little after a while, knowing they were probably safe, but still kept on high alert, prudently leaving doors open and doing whatever they could to clear the way in case they had to leave in a hurry. But it seemed unlikely that anyone was going to find them here.

They passed through the room where Galbatorix had been making boots, and through the library, where the fire still burned, and kept on Northward until they reached the base of the dragon roost and the stairs that led to Galbatorix's bedroom.

Brom took in a deep breath. _'I'll go first,'_ he told Arya, and went on ahead without waiting for a reply. He didn't care if she thought she should go first. He wanted to be the one to do it.

When the door came in sight, Brom saw the light coming through it. He halted and banished the last of his magical glow, then glanced back at Arya. She had already done the same. _'Go on, Brom,'_ she said. _'I will be behind you.'_

Brom nodded wordlessly and stepped toward the door, placing each foot with care. He strained his ears. No sound from the other side. Not satisfied, he let his mind expand and reached out mentally, searching as carefully as possible for any sign of another mind. He didn't find one. That didn't mean that Galbatorix wasn't in there, however. It only meant that, if he was there, his mind was shielded. He had learned from the elves that a dark elf did not have to concentrate on shielding his or her mind. It was a reflex action. They could even do it while they were asleep. It made it impossible to scry one that didn't want to be scryed. No-one knew how far Galbatorix's dark elvish abilities went, but they already knew he was impossible to scry. And he could lie in the ancient language. Even break its oaths. A liar born and bred.

Brom clutched his dagger tightly and peered around the door. Almost instantly, he saw the hammock and its occupant. He smiled his relief. _'He's there. He's asleep.'_

'_Excellent. Go in, Brom, and quickly.'_

Brom stepped into the room. He was astonished by how plain it was, and in spite of the danger he looked around at it all, agape. _This_ was where Galbatorix slept? This was the Mad King's bedchamber? It was barely fit for a servant, let alone a King. Whatever Galbatorix's faults were, a lust for luxury was not one of them.

Brom moved closer to the hammock, every nerve and muscle wound up, every sense strained to its uttermost. A moment later he was standing over it… and felt horror and dismay close in over his head like icy water.

Galbatorix looked peaceful in sleep, even innocent. He was frowning a little; an almost childlike expression, and his slow breathing was the only sound he made.

It was like staring into the past.

There was Galbatorix, right there in front of him, exactly as he had been all those long years ago, his face untouched by scars or wrinkles, his hair still thick and dark, his beard bristling. Unchanged.

A strange feeling came over Brom. For a moment, standing there, he wanted to cry. _This_ was him? This was the Mad King? This was what he had come to kill?

Arya joined him soundlessly. He heard her sharp intake of breath when she saw Galbatorix, but she seemed composed enough. She glanced at him. _'Do it! Why are you hesitating?'_

'_I…'_ Brom could feel himself trembling. _'That's him? But he's… he's not… he hasn't… he looks the same! He looks like he's still nineteen years old! How can that be?'_

'_It must be his elvish blood,'_ said Arya. _'Remember I am nearly as old as him.' _She took hold of his arm. _'Kill him! Do it, now, or I will take the first blow from you.'_

But something was still holding Brom back, and it was not just shock. As he looked down on Galbatorix, so quiet and still there, the idea of killing him in his sleep felt obscene. And somehow… somehow Brom still could not quite make himself believe that this was really him. How could this man, who looked like hardly more than a boy, be _him?_

After so long, Galbatorix had ceased to be a person in Brom's mind. He had become something else, something bigger and darker and far less real. He had become a symbol; a collection of stories and names. The Mad King. The Usurper. The Great Betrayer. The Half-Breed. The Riders' Bane. The Shadow That Walks. In fact, Brom rarely heard anyone call him by name any more. Among the elves it was always "hálfr-dreyri" – "half-breed", or "ófolr álfr" – "dark elf", and among humans it was "the King", or "the Mad King". But this was not these things, this was…

Galbatorix opened his eyes.

Brom jerked in horror, his hand rising to strike, but Galbatorix made no move. He lay still, peering up at him. 'Am I dreaming?' he mumbled thickly.

The voice… it no longer had a Teirmish accent, but he recognised it. Brom put his arm out to hold Arya back. 'Yes,' he said.

Galbatorix closed his eyes again. 'I lied,' he said in a strange, faraway voice. 'Arren Cardockson didn't kill himself. I killed him. He was weak. He didn't want to be King. He had to die. Tell Morzan… tell him I'll keep my crown. And…' he opened his eyes again, and coughed. 'My hair's a mess. Get me a comb, would you?'

Brom struck. The dagger came down, hitting Galbatorix in the chest. His eyes snapped open and he cried out, jerking violently in his hammock, and then Arya's dagger hit him.

'For Saphira!' Brom snarled, and then…

…and then there was no thought. There was just redness, and the dagger, coming down again and again, sinking up to the hilt in Galbatorix's body. Brom could feel it scraping against the bones. He remembered that afterward. The strange grating feeling in his hand, travelling up the blade. He stabbed on and on, caught up in a maddened frenzy, snarling like a wild animal, until Arya finally pulled him away. 'Enough!' she said sharply. 'It's done!'

Galbatorix's robe was soaked. He twitched and coughed. Blood bubbled up out of his mouth but, most horribly, he was not dead yet. He lurched sideways, grabbing at the edge of the hammock, which tipped over and dropped him onto the floor with a wet thump. He lay there for a moment, still twitching feebly, and then sighed and slumped onto the stone, lying still in a spreading pool of his own blood.

Brom realised that he was shaking. The dagger dropped out of his fingers.

'Come!' Arya snarled, seizing him by the shoulder. 'It's done. He's dead. We have to run.'

She pulled him toward the door, and then –

The entire room shook. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and the hammock swung wildly. Brom nearly fell, grabbing hold of the desk to steady himself. The room shook again. Something was smashing into the ceiling.

Brom's mouth fell open. 'Shruikan!'

Another mighty thump made the cupboard fall over. Brom's strange trance broke, and he ran from the room at full tilt, following Arya.

The assassins fled down the stairs, stumbling as Shruikan's assault on the dragon roost made the tower tremble. They did not bother with stealth any more. Even if there had been anyone there to hear them, the thumps and the bellowing from overhead would have drowned it out.

Brom conjured up a blue light as he ran, not caring now if anyone saw it. The words were chasing each other around in his head. _The King is dead, the King is dead, the King is dead…_

They neared the entrance to the catacombs. They would be safe down there in moments, down there in the gloom where no-one would find them, where the only other people there were the dead…

Brom did not hear the running footsteps ahead of him, but he did see the light. It appeared suddenly from around the corner, red and vivid. He tried to slow down, but too late. A huge bulky figure came around the corner and stopped dead.

Brom stopped in his tracks. So did Arya.

Morzan gaped at him. 'What the fucking hell? Who are _you?'_

Arya grabbed Brom's hand. 'Run!' she yelled.

They turned and sprinted away as fast as they could go, and Morzan was after them at once, hurling magic at them as soon as they came in sight. They dodged it and evaded him, banishing their light and running on in near-darkness. It was only luck that saved them. Morzan was slow, weighed down by his heavy frame and encumbered, too, by the lingering effects of the alcoholic slumber he had fallen into mere hours ago. He stumbled through the empty quarter, swearing, but they had vanished.

Idün's voice shouted in his head. _'Morzan! MORZAN!'_

The pull of his dragon's voice was stronger than his desire to catch the fugitives. He ran toward the dragon roost, feeling the floor shake beneath him, straining against the haze in his brain to reach Idün again. _'Idün, what happened? Who were those people?'_

'_Something's happened. Shruikan's gone mad. RUN!'_

And, as Morzan ran, something flashed across his brain. The intruder, the one surrounded by blue light… there had been a dark stain on his clothes.

And then…

The great, rumbling crash from overhead was so loud it nearly gave him physical pain. Morzan was shaken to the floor, while the sound of breaking and falling stone came from above him, like a landslide. _'Idün! What the hell happened?'_

'_It's the dragon roost, he's destroyed the top of the-,'_

Morzan got up and ran. When he reached the stairs he found them littered with fragments of shattered masonry. He dashed up them, ignoring the huge cracks in the walls, until he got to the top…

It wasn't there any more. The door to Galbatorix's bedroom had fallen over amid the remains of the wall it had been set into, and the room itself was destroyed. The roof had been torn off, along with a good chunk of the walls, and Shruikan was there in the rubble, his tail and one hind leg dangling over the side, gasping and exhausted. Idün was not there. She was circling low overhead, bellowing her distress, and Morzan could not contact her.

He ran toward Shruikan. The black dragon's front talons were cracked and broken, and one was bleeding.

Galbatorix was lying between them, bloodied and still.

Morzan ran to him and lifted him up, cradling him in his arms. Galbatorix hung limply in his grasp, his hair matted with blood. The entire front of his robe was shredded, and the bandages beneath had turned red. His heart was not beating.

Morzan dropped him and lurched away to the edge of the ruined dragon roost, where he vomited. Most of what came up was red liquid… wine, most likely. Morzan fell to his knees and continued to cough and retch, bringing up more of it. How much had he drunk…? One bottle? Two? The smell was horrible; a sickly, acid smell. It made him keep on retching, even when there was nothing more to come up.

'_Morzan!' _Idün called. _'Get up, for gods' sakes, something's happening!'_

Morzan lurched to his feet. _'They've killed-,'_

A noise made him stop. It was faint, so faint, and yet it drowned out everything else – Idün's roars, the shouts coming from down in the castle, the faint crash of falling stone.

Morzan turned, and saw something that struck terror into his heart.

He saw Galbatorix jerk once, violently, all over, his mouth opening wide to take in a great gasp of air. He started to cough… and then he started to scream.

Morzan never really remembered all of what happened next. One moment he was standing and staring, and the next he was tearing the bandages and the sodden robe away from Galbatorix's chest, exposing the dozens of stab-wounds the assassins had left.

'_Waíse heill!' _

Red magic spread out from Morzan's hand, not a thin stream but a great blanket of it, flowing down over Galbatorix like water. Morzan poured his strength into it, and then Idün's as well, giving up all he had. And then, as he began to feel himself weaken, Shruikan's mind suddenly opened itself into his and the black dragon's own strength added itself to the spell.

The two dragons and the man completed the healing between them. When Morzan finally withdrew his hand, there were no wounds left on Galbatorix's chest, and no sores either, and the King lay still, breathing strongly.

Morzan sat down, exhausted. _'I've d- we've done it,'_ he told Idün.

The red dragon shared a feeling of urgency and rage. _'Morzan, I can see them. They're escaping!'_

'_What? Who-?'_

'_Those people you ran into, the ones who did it, I can see them down in the forest, they've got horses and they're escaping. Get up, we've got to go after them!'_

Morzan started to stand up, reaching for his sword.

A hand grabbed hold of his.

'Sir!'

Galbatorix's face was contorted. 'Morzan, it's him. It's him. He's alive. They came to kill me, it's the Varden, it's – elves – there's an elf, they stabbed me, you've got to-,'

Morzan crouched and embraced him tightly. 'It's all right, sir, I'm going after them. I'm gonna get 'em.' He stood up, leaving Galbatorix lying in the rubble, and ran toward the edge of the roost. He stopped there and looked back, his face pale in the moonlight. 'Take care of Murtagh for me, sir. Please.'

A moment later Idün swooped down and grabbed him, carrying him away. She took him in her jaws and threw him onto her back, and flew away Northwards, following the fleeing rebels as fast as she could go.

Back toward Gil'ead.


	24. The Last True Rider

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Last True Rider

The chase toward Gil'ead was one of the longest and most unpleasant flights of Morzan's life. He clung to Idün's neck, in constant danger of falling off, the cold air cutting right through his clothes. She flew at high speed, constantly watching for any sign of the fleeing rebels. They lost them several times, but Idün was a hunter and the horses could not hide from her forever. She found them whenever they went to ground, forcing them to flee again. A dragon could fly faster than a galloping horse, but there was enough cover for them to hide, and they appeared and disappeared, only just evading Idün's claws. It was less a chase and more like a horrible game of hide-and-seek.

At first they were able to keep them in view, even in spite of the dark, and Morzan was confident that they would catch them in the end – a dragon had far more stamina in the air than a horse had on the ground. But the assassins had planned their escape well. Accomplices were waiting for them among the rocky spires of the lookout where Galbatorix had taken Eluna, with fresh horses ready. From there they fled to Bullridge, where they changed horses once again and fled over the countryside. Morzan arrived in Bullridge mere hours after they had left it, and when the locals reported having seen two people leave in a great hurry, heading Northward along the river, the rest was easy to deduce.

'_They're heading for Du Weldenvarden,'_ he said, to Idün, once they were in the air again.

'_Yes. And the easiest road there will lead them past Gil'ead. They can't do it all in one stretch. They'll be forced to stop again and let their horses rest.'_

Morzan held on tightly. There had been no time to saddle the red dragon, and he had had to wrap his legs in strips of leather to stop them from being shredded by her scales. But there was nothing to hold onto other than the spikes on the back of her neck, and merely staying on her back was exhausting. He had barely slept since leaving Urû'baen, and hadn't eaten either.

'_Are you all right, Morzan?'_ said Idün, noticing his lack of a response and, no doubt, sensing his exhaustion.

Morzan sat up a little straighter. _'I'm fine.'_

'_Maybe. Eat something, you've got to keep your strength up.'_

He'd taken a moment to take some food from a market stall in Bullridge, and now took a loaf of coarse bread from where he'd stashed it inside his tunic and ate it – far too hungry to notice the dreadful taste.

Idün flew on a little faster. _'We should reach Gil'ead by tomorrow. We've got to alert the city guard – get them to spread out into the countryside. They should be in time to catch them.'_

'_They won't go into the city,'_ said Morzan. _'It'd be suicide.'_

'_No. But they'll be near it, and now we've lost sight of them there's nowhere else we can go.'_

Morzan finished off the bread and wolfed down a wedge of cheese, so quickly he was in danger of choking on it. _'Godsdamn those sons of bitches, when I catch up with them they can forget a trial. I'll have them drawn and quartered.'_

'_I doubt the King would stop you,'_ Idün said grimly.

Morzan remembered the awful wounds that the assassins had left on Galbatorix's body. _'I shouldn't have… d'you think he's all right?'_

Idün gave a mental nod. _'He's strong. He survived three years with the plague, and so many other things as well. No-one can kill the Shadow that Walks,' _she added, half to herself.

Morzan forced himself to swallow. _'I wish… you know, Idün…'_

'_Yes? What?'_

'_Sometimes I wish I could hate him. It'd be so easy to just hate him. He's so – he's such a nightmare! One minute we're mates, the next he turns around an'… I can't trust him to do anything except jerk me around. He comes and goes and does what the hell he wants, and the rest of us just have to put up with it.'_

'_Well, he's always been like that, hasn't he?'_ said Idün. _'It's his way. And I don't think he means to hurt you. He does what he thinks is right. Sometimes he lets himself be… well, himself, but the rest of the time he's the King.'_

'_Yeah…'_ Morzan sighed. _'And Kings don't have time to be anyone's friend, do they? But he was right, wasn't he? When he said he wanted to leave. Just get out of here and never come back. I wish I'd… I want to leave, too. I should've said so. If we could both get out of here. I mean look at us, Idün. Him and me, and you, and Shruikan. We can't keep living like this. A hundred years, like this? It's not right. It's bad for us. It's hurting all of us. And what thanks do we get?'_

'_But we've had good times,'_ said Idün. _'All of us. You can't pretend we haven't been happy as well.'_

'_No,'_ Morzan said softly. _'But those times are gone and they ain't coming back.'_

'_They could,'_ said Idün, but she didn't sound like she truly believed it.

Morzan was silent for a long time. Tiredness was closing over his brain, making it hard for him to concentrate. _'I need… I've got to… sleep,'_ he managed.

'_Sleep, then,'_ said Idün. _'I'll wake you if you're in danger of falling off.'_

'_Right,'_ Morzan mumbled. He lay flat against her neck, digging his fingers into the gaps between her scales to try and steady himself, and closed his eyes. Normally it would have been impossible to sleep in such a precarious position, but after two days of virtually no sleep at all his system simply couldn't cope with staying awake any longer. His brain shut down in mere moments, and he slid into a doze.

But though he could sleep in spite of the circumstances, he couldn't sleep peacefully. He dreamed vague and unpleasant dreams… nightmares, perhaps. He saw Murtagh, lying dead with Zar'roc embedded in his back. Galbatorix stood over him, tears running silently down his face. Selena was there, clad in her simple peasant clothes, one side of her face bruised and swollen. She stood by Galbatorix's side, as Morzan had seen her that day in the library. They did not look at each other, but then Galbatorix pulled her toward him and kissed her. They embraced tightly, their hands groping at each other and sliding under their clothes to touch flesh. Morzan could hear their impassioned breathing. Galbatorix, clasping Selena with one arm, his free hand inside her dress, looked up at Morzan with a wicked grin. _You know I wanted her,_ he said, and then Selena silenced him with another kiss.

Morzan stirred in his sleep, his face creasing into a pained grimace. 'Stop it,' he mumbled. 'Stop it.'

'_Morzan? Morzan, wake up!'_

Morzan woke up, sore and shivering. He'd started to slide sideways off Idün's back, and he grabbed hold of her neck-spike and hauled himself back before he had even fully woken. It was late afternoon, by the looks of things, and they were still in the air.

'_What's… what's…?'_

Idün beat her wings a few times, to keep herself in the air. _'Gil'ead,'_ she said simply.

And when Morzan looked ahead, he could see it. The city was quite close; they would be there in less than half an hour. _'How long was I asleep?'_ he managed.

'_Hours. Hold on tight; we're nearly there.'_

'_Have you seen them?'_

'_No. Not a sign, but I think I caught a whiff of something a while ago. They can't have reached it ahead of us, I promise.'_

'_I know.'_

Morzan blinked owlishly in the light of the afternoon sun. His long sleep hadn't made him feel any better – if anything he was even more tired now than before, and stiff as well. His bones and joints weren't as limber as they had once been; he had a touch of rheumatism, he knew. Even riders aged.

But that didn't matter. He touched Zar'roc's hilt and waited impatiently as Gil'ead drew closer. Idün was flying more slowly now; the long journey had tired her as much as it had him, and he could tell she was as keen to get there as he was.

She landed on the dragon roost with a heavy thump, making the stonework crack audibly, and Morzan almost fell off her back. His legs folded up as soon as he hit the ground, and he landed on his back, bruised and breathless. 'Gods… damn it,' he managed.

Idün had already flopped onto her stomach. Her sides were heaving. _'Are you… all right?'_

'_I think so-,'_ Morzan tried to get up, but his legs were stiff and he fell over again, swearing.

The trapdoor opened, and several people came up through it – servants, guards, and Lord Theremin. Morzan let the servants help him up, though irritably.

'I'm fine,' he muttered, waving away the others trying to enquire after his health. 'Just tired. You… Captain… whatever your name is, there's something – important…' he pulled himself together. 'There's two people coming this way. Rebels. Probably Varden. They got into Urû'baen and tried to assassinate the King. I chased them – they were coming this way, they're heading for Du Weldenvarden. We've got to head them off when they get here, understood?'

The guard stood to attention. 'Yes, my Lord. Are you certain they'll be coming to Gil'ead.'

'Yeh. It's the best road. They'll have friends hiding here, ready to help them. We chased them almost to here before we lost them… they went through Bullridge, and then-,' he realised he was swaying slightly. 'They're coming here,' he said again. 'Dunno when they'll arrive. Send – get every guard you've got, get soldiers as well – anyone we've got who can fight. Get them to watch the road. In secret. Stop anyone heading for Du Weldenvarden. If they get away, I'll make you wish you'd never been born.'

'Yes, my Lord. I'll see to it right away.' The guard climbed back down the ladder and into the castle at high speed, followed by his colleagues.

'My Lord, you need to rest,' said Lord Theremin, once they'd gone.

Morzan nodded. 'Yeah, yeah, I know. Someone bring some water for Idün. And food. I've gotta… gotta go get some sleep.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

Morzan hated himself for admitting it, but he knew he didn't have any other options. He'd always hated to look weak in front of other people, especially his inferiors, and even though his vision was turning grey it was humiliating to let himself be led to his bedchamber, and even more humiliating to let one of the servants support him so he wouldn't fall over. He wanted to stay awake, to stay up on the roost with Idün and keep watch, or to supervise the guards as they organised themselves to intercept the assassins. But he knew he couldn't. He simply didn't have the strength for it.

_I'm old,_ he thought, as he stumbled into his bedchamber and shut the door behind him. He could feel the ache in his limbs, and the slight shakiness in his hands. His vision was starting to fade a little too, he knew. Once he could have made the flight from Urû'baen, even at that speed, and still been strong enough to fight to the death at the end of it. Back in the days of the war, he and the others had done that sort of thing all the time.

Where had all his stamina gone?

The room was spinning around him. _Weak,_ his mind whispered. _You're weak, old man. You can't fight any more. You're too old. You drink too much. The only thing you use your sword for now is maiming children._

Morzan almost fell onto his bed. He hadn't had the strength to take off his boots, or even unstrap Zar'roc from his back. He tried to think, tried to gather his scattered wits, but exhaustion was closing over his mind in a blank black mist, shutting out all thought and weighing down every limb.

He fell asleep less than a minute after hitting the bed, and didn't move for hours.

Morzan woke up feeling much better. It was morning by now, and though his back hurt from having slept on top of Zar'roc his exhaustion had left him.

He got up and left his room without bothering to groom or change his clothes, and went straight to see the captain of the guard. He was away helping with the monitoring of the road, but a guard had been sent back to report and gave him the news that the road was being watched by guards who were either disguised or hiding, and that others had been sent to infiltrate the fringes of Du Weldenvarden. Still others were up on the walls, watching intently for any sign of movement. So far nothing had been seen, but Morzan was assured that every effort was being made.

'In any case, my Lord, there's no way they could have gotten here yet,' the guard added.

Morzan was moderately satisfied by all this, and went to get something to eat. He was served with a large platter of food, and ate it quickly in the dining hall, simultaneously reaching out to Idün. It was difficult to make contact – at first he thought she was asleep, but when he finally got through he found her mind was fully awake. _'Morzan, there you are. How are you?'_

'_Better. What's going on? Where are you?'_

He felt his phantom wings stretch and flex. _'I'm flying over the edge of Du Weldenvarden,'_ said Idün. _'Keeping watch. The light is good; I'll see them if they enter the trees.'_

'_Won't they see you?'_

'_Unlikely. I'm flying high.'_

'_Good. I'll be with you as soon as I've eaten.'_

'_No hurry,'_ said Idün. _'I doubt they'll get here today. Tomorrow, maybe.'_

But Morzan finished his meal as quickly as he could, unable to keep the tension out of his system. The rebels had been one step ahead of both him and Galbatorix ever since they had first begun assassinating the Forsworn, and Morzan didn't doubt that they had something planned for this sort of situation. They were cunning bastards, and Gil'ead's guards weren't accustomed to this sort of thing. If the rebels got past them…

_They won't get past me,_ he vowed to himself.

'_I'm coming back now,'_ said Idün.

Morzan stood up. _'Good. I'll come up to the roost to meet you.'_

'_There's no need to hurry,'_ said Idün. _'I've got a fair way to fly before I'm there.'_

'_I'm coming,'_ Morzan repeated.

He left the dining hall and made for the roost. His legs were still a little stiff, but they limbered up after a little while.

As he stopped for a rest at the bottom of the stairs to the roost, he felt Idün's presence in his mind again.

'_What's up? You here yet?'_

'_Not yet. I'm well over Du Weldenvarden…'_ she shared a feeling of slight puzzlement. _'I think I can see something. I'm going to have a closer look.'_

Morzan tensed. _'What does it look like?'_

'_I thought I saw a horse,'_ said Idün. _'It's probably nothing. I'll circle around for a little while and then come back. Look, Morzan-,'_

'_Idün, you shouldn't be out there on your own. Something might happen to you.'_

Idün gave a mental snort. _'I'm a dragon, Morzan. I can look after myself. Listen, while you're waiting for me you should go and write to Galbatorix. Let him know what's going on. He'll want to know.'_

Morzan paused, and then nodded. _'Yeh. You're right.'_

He turned and headed back toward his office, keeping the mental channel open so he could keep track of Idün. He could feel her wings beating gently, and the wind on her face, and when he concentrated he could see faint images of the forest below her and catch the scent of trees. Nothing unusual or worrying there.

'_Call me if you see anything,'_ he told her.

'_Don't worry, I will. Now hurry.'_

Morzan reached his office and slumped down at the desk. It seemed like an age since he'd written a letter, but he snatched up a quill and a piece of parchment at random, then uncorked a bottle of ink and then stopped to think. The letter would have to be sent as soon as possible. No time to say anything that wasn't completely necessary.

Morzan looked down at his hand. The quill looked tiny and fragile in his thick fingers. A sword was the only thing that had ever looked natural in his hands.

An image of Murtagh flashed across his brain, and he shuddered and started to write.

_To Galbatorix-_

He stopped, looked at it for a moment, and then discarded the parchment and began again.

_Sire,_

_Idün and I chased the rebels Northwards – they had people helping them along the way. They definitely stopped at Bullridge for new horses; we got there a short time after them and found out they got new horses and left toward Gil'ead. We're in Gil'ead now; we flew night and day and they can't have beaten us here. We're certain they're headed for Du Weldenvarden, so I've sent out as many people as I can to try and catch them before they get there. Idün is flying overhead and watching for them; I'm going to go and join her in a few moments._

Morzan stopped and read over it. It was hastily written and his handwriting was rough, but it would do. He racked his brains, trying to think of anything else he should add.

No. That was everything. He'd put down all the information he had at the moment.

He thought of Galbatorix as he had last seen him, at the top of the demolished dragon roost, lying between Shruikan's talons. He remembered the blood that had soaked into his robe.

Morzan started to chew his lip. He wished he hadn't left so quickly. What if Galbatorix still needed help? What if the healing hadn't been enough? What if-? And then there was Murtagh. And Selena, he remembered as an afterthought. He hadn't seen her since Murtagh had been hurt. She must have been hiding from him. And Murtagh…

The quill started to break in Morzan's hand.

'Gods…' he mumbled.

Murtagh, his son. Murtagh, lying on the library floor with his back laid open, pinned down by Zar'roc's blade, screaming and thrashing as his blood started to spread outward from the rip in his tunic. Murtagh, dying in front of him. Murtagh, his son.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Morzan dipped the quill in the ink and laboriously added another line to the letter.

_Please take care of Murtagh for me. Tell him his father loves him and didn't mean to hurt him. _

_Morzan._

Morzan dropped the quill and pushed the letter away from him. It was too big to send by bird, he realised dully. He'd have to copy it out onto something smaller.

He sighed and reached for the box containing the little slips of waxed parchment, and then-

Morzan jerked violently backward in his chair. The box fell out of his grasp and broke into pieces on the floor, but he didn't see it. He clapped a hand to his shoulder. Pain was radiating outward from the joint, as if he had just wrenched it, but he knew the pain was not his.

He staggered out of his chair. _'Idün! IDÜN!'_

Pain hit him again, this time in the chest, and he stumbled and nearly fell. _'IDÜN! For gods' sakes, what's going on?'_

Idün's voice was high and panicky. _'Morzan, you've got to come, I'm being attacked-,'_

Morzan was already running out of the office. He hit the door so hard he nearly broke it, and then he was out and off, sprinting through the corridors and down the stairs. He reached a side-door leading out of the castle and ran out into the city, so maddened by Idün's shared pain that he didn't stop to speak to anyone. When someone tried to stop him he knocked them off their feet and ran on without pausing.

As he left the city, pain still crackling through him, he sought desperately for Idün again.

'_Idün, where are you? For gods' sakes, answer me!'_

Idün's answer came with a fresh burst of pain. _'I'm near the lake, on the other side, I can't – Morzan, hurry!'_

And Morzan ran. As he left the city he was waylaid by a pair of guards.

'My Lord! My Lord, what's going on?'

Morzan stopped. One of the guards was holding a horse by the reins. 'Give me that.'

'Of course my Lord, but-,'

Morzan vaulted onto the horse. It reared, but he reached into its mind and quickly wrestled it into submission. It hesitated a few moments, and then bolted. Morzan hadn't ridden a horse in a long time, but in comparison to riding a dragon it was easy. He couldn't remember how to direct the animal using the reins, but that wasn't necessary; he kept a channel open between their minds and forced it to run toward the lake and then around the edge of the bank as fast as it could go. The horse started to flag when they were halfway there, but Morzan wouldn't allow it to slow down. He forced it to stay at a gallop, following the pull of Idün's mind. Soon he could see her, up ahead on the shore of the lake furthest from the city, circling erratically above the trees.

'_I'm coming,'_ he called. _'I'm coming.'_

Idün landed. She dipped below the trees, and seconds later there was an almighty crash and pain exploded through Morzan's body. His vision flashed red, and he cried out, his whole body convulsing. It was far too late to close the channel between himself and the horse. The pain jumped across it and into the horse's mind, overwhelming it. Instantly the animal's legs folded beneath it and Morzan was thrown out of the saddle.

He landed with an almighty thump that knocked all the breath out of his body. Something went crack inside him, and then blackness closed over his mind.

He woke up a few seconds later and staggered to his feet. His leg hurt, and there was a painful graze on his arm and another down the side of his face. He healed them without even thinking.

The horse was lying on its side not far away. It was dead.

Morzan turned and ran. His knee-joint was damaged, but Idün's weakness was flowing into him and he didn't stop to heal it. He ran on, limping and swearing. Ahead the trees that marked the boundary of Du Weldenvarden rose up out of the landscape, and he could see Idün's red scales showing through them. She was lying just beyond the trees.

'_Idün! IDÜN!'_

The voice in his head had gone silent. But he could still feel her pain.

Morzan burst through the trees, heedless of the branches lashing at his face, once hand rising to grasp Zar'roc's hilt. 'I'm coming,' he muttered. 'I'm coming, I'm coming…'

He found Idün lying amid a patch of shattered and fallen trees, one wing folded beneath her. There were fragments of wood lodged in her flanks and neck, and she was groaning softly. Morzan ran to her side.

'_Idün! Idün, for gods' sakes, answer me!'_

The eye nearest to him opened slowly. _'Morzan…'_ the red dragon's mental voice was weak. _'Morzan, please…'_

'_It's all right, Idün, I've got you. What happened? Where are you hurt?'_

She was silent for a long time, and then she rolled over onto her side, moving slowly and painfully, exposing her chest. There, standing out amid the paler scales of her underside, tiny and innocuous, were the broken hafts of three arrows.

Morzan pulled them out. It was hard; the tips were barbed and one of them broke off and remained lodged inside Idün's body. He healed the wounds left by the other two. There was another arrow in her shoulder, but he could tell it hadn't gone deep enough to do any real damage. This shouldn't have caused the kind of pain he had felt before, or what he was feeling now.

'_Idün, what's wrong? What's happened to you?'_

Idün was lying quite still, her sides heaving. _'Morzan. Morzan, you've… got… run. Run… away.'_

'_No! I'm not leaving you. Idün, just tell me what I have to do. Was there something on those arrows?'_

Idün raised her head a short way, and then let it drop. _'It's… I'm sorry, Morzan. So… sorry… they've k- they've – you've…'_ her mouth opened slightly. _'It's a trap, Morzan. You've got to run. They're waiting for you. They're waiting.'_

Morzan drew his sword. He turned slowly, scanning the forest for any sign of movement. There was nothing. But Idün's nostrils were picking up a scent. A human scent.

He stood still, staring into the forest. Nothing. No sign. Nothing but faceless trees in every direction.

'Come out!' he roared. 'You godsdamned cowards, come out and face me!'

Silence. He thought he heard a twig snap. And then…

'I am the shadow that comes in the night,' a voice whispered.

Morzan turned. '_Brisingr!_'

The fireball hit a tree and burst against its trunk, turning it black and charred.

The voice laughed. 'I am the fear that lurks in your heart…'

Morzan stopped. '…Galbatorix?' he faltered. 'Is that you?'

Another laugh, and then a tall, thin figure stepped out from behind a tree. It was holding a sword, and its face was covered by a hood. 'Hello, Morzan,' it said.

Morzan raised his right hand, readying his magic. 'Who are you?'

'I am the past,' said the figure. 'Your past.'

Morzan hurled a blast of magic at it. In the blink of an eye, it raised a hand and threw up a glowing blue shield, deflecting his attack.

Morzan blinked in bewilderment. 'What the hell? Who _are_ you? Show me your face!'

The figure pulled back its hood, revealing a thin middle-aged man with a greying beard. He looked at Morzan with a strange expression. Hatred, but… 'Morzan,' he said softly. 'I hardly recognise you. You look so _old.'_

Morzan just stared at him, his fear and his rage forgotten. 'Who are you?' he said again.

The man looked at him, almost sorrowfully. 'Don't you recognise me, Morzan? I recognise you.'

Morzan pointed Zar'roc at him. 'Yeah, I know you, you son of a bitch. You're the Varden. You broke into the castle.'

'So I did,' said the man. 'We ran straight into you, didn't we? But you've slowed down, old man. Wine does that to a man. And time.'

Morzan spat. 'It's the end of the line for you, rebel. You're not getting away from me this time.' He hurled another spell at the man, this one intended to paralyse him.

But the man was fast. He dodged the attack with lightning speed, and threw his own magic back. Blue magic.

Morzan managed to block it. He sneered, hiding his puzzlement and alarm. 'You think you can match a rider in magic?'

The man's calm suddenly vanished. 'I _am_ a rider, you murdering son of a bitch! Traitor! Betrayer! _Murderer!_ I trusted you! How could you do that to me? To us?' he started to advance, sword raised, mouthing curses in the ancient language. _'Svíkja, morðvíg, ljúga, hefnd, jafnaðr, deyja, deyja, deyja!'_

And, as he drew nearer, Morzan saw the man's eyes. Time had made them fade, but there was still a brightness about them. Blue. Bright blue. Like his magic. Like the dragon he had once ridden.

Morzan's own eyes filled with horror and dismay. _'Brom?'_

At the sound of his name, Brom charged. He took advantage of the other rider's surprise and drove him backward under a flurry of blows. Morzan retreated, weakened by Idün's pain, blocking Brom's sword as well as he could. Idün struggled to get up, groaning softly in her helplessness. The venom racing through her system was stripping away the last of her strength, paralysing the red dragon's huge limbs, and she slumped and rolled onto her side, unable to move.

Morzan felt it. 'IDÜN!' he screamed, and drove forward with a sudden burst of energy, striking at Brom with all of his flagging strength.

Brom, though, did not fight quietly either. He dodged Morzan's attacks, striking back with wicked speed, and all the while he shouted. 'It was night! It was dark! I was on sentry duty! Both of us were! She said she heard something! It was _you_. You appeared out of the sky, you attacked the fort. She said we had to fight, so I got on her back. We flew to defend Vroengard. Another dragon attacked us in the sky! It was _you._ You killed her! You ripped her apart! You tore her out of my heart! You took my life! MURDERER!'

But Morzan was not done yet. He swung Zar'roc sideways, putting his full weight behind it. The red blade struck Brom's own sword hard, halfway down its length. There was a deafening metal _clang,_ and Brom's sword shattered. Shards of metal were scattered everywhere and then Brom was backing away, holding the ruined hilt, his face full of shock and dismay.

Morzan struck him hard in the face, his big fist knocking Brom off his feet. Before he could get up, Morzan had grabbed him by the front of his tunic and was lifting him off the ground until he was dangling helplessly in midair.

But Morzan did not kill him. He was looking at him with more than amazement. There was something else in his face, behind that and behind the rage, but Brom did not know what it was.

'Brom,' he said softly. 'How can this be real? You're dead.'

'_No,'_ Brom spat. 'I survived. Just like _he_ did. I lived with the pain _you_ gave me, every day of my life. I came back to punish you for what you did to us, Morzan. You and the rest of you murderers. _You killed Saphira._'

Morzan's face hardened. 'You betrayed us, you son of a bitch,' he roared, shaking him as he had once done to Galbatorix. 'You lied! I thought you were one of us, I thought you were my friend, but you tricked us! You tried to kill him! You poisoned Galbatorix!'

'Vrael sent me to kill him,' said Brom. 'I failed. Now I have undone that failure. The King is dead.'

Morzan blinked. 'No. He's not. He's not dead, he's alive-,'

'He's _dead,'_ Brom snarled. 'I stabbed him. Over and over again. I felt the dagger hit bone. I saw him die on the floor. _The King is dead.'_

Morzan threw him down. 'You're dead, Varden.'

Brom watched with a kind of fascination as Morzan raised Zar'roc, the red blade glinting in the sun. He showed no fear. 'It doesn't matter,' he said. 'Kill me. My task is done. The Forsworn are dead, and so is the Great Betrayer. And soon you'll be dead as well.'

Behind them, Idün let out a groan and went limp. Morzan heard her voice in his head. _'Morzan…'_

The sword fell out of his fingers. Morzan stared blankly at it, and then staggered backward as if he had been struck in the chest. There was no pain now, though, only a strange feeling of… weakness.

He hit Idün and slid down her scales, landing slumped by her neck with his legs folded beneath him. His eyes had gone blank and staring, and he grabbed vaguely at Idün's body, trying to pull himself up.

'Idün… Idün…'

Brom had got up. He picked up Zar'roc from off the ground and came forward slowly, until he was standing over Morzan.

Morzan looked up at his former friend, his lined face made young again by sheer terror. 'Brom,' he whispered. 'Please, Brom, help me, she's-,'

Brom closed his eyes for a moment. 'She's dying,' he said in a low voice. 'Those arrows were poisoned. There is nothing anyone can do to save her now. You killed my dragon. Now you'll know what it feels like.'

_What it feels like, what it feels like…_

Morzan could feel Idün's presence fading out of his mind, draining away, bit by bit. The last of her voice was a whisper in his ears. _'Morzan…'_

He couldn't move. His magic would not obey him, his mental voice was silenced. All he could see was Brom looking down at him, his blue eyes full of horrible triumph.

Morzan started to sob. 'No. Please, no, no, no…'

There was no pity in Brom's face, only hate. 'We have reclaimed one of the eggs you stole,' he said. 'One day, it will hatch for someone who is worthy. You will not touch him, and nor will the betrayer. I will train him. The new riders will be free, and the old order will rise again. The Empire is finished.'

A kind of strength returned to Morzan's eyes. 'No,' he rasped. 'No. He'll find you. He'll kill you for me. You can't…'

'He's _dead_, fool. You could not protect him from our justice. Your _lady_ came to me. She asked me to avenge the son you murdered. The betrayers have been betrayed.'

Morzan didn't hear him. Even as Brom spoke, he felt the last of Idün's presence vanish from his mind. And as the very last part of their link was finally severed, the true agony hit him.

His entire body convulsed, head thrown backward, arms flung out, hands turning into grasping claws, his face stretched into a rigid mask of unspeakable pain and horror.

And then he screamed. He fell sideways and began to thrash wildly, screaming and screaming. He screamed until he went hoarse, until something in his throat broke and blood came into his mouth, until the whole forest echoed with it and birds flew up from the trees. He screamed until Brom clapped his hands over his hears, wincing at the noise of it. It was not a human scream, not even slightly, and it went on and on, unstoppable and unspeakable.

The silence that followed when it finally stopped was even worse. Morzan lay in a crumpled heap, gasping for breath, his face contorted, mumbling in a strange distorted voice. _'Idün… Idün… Idün…'_

Suddenly, all Brom felt was tiredness. He took a few steps forward and kicked Morzan onto his back. The other rider did not resist. He lay and stared up at him, and his dark eyes were blank and dead, as if something behind them had vanished and was gone forever.

Brom glanced up. He could hear the shouts from beyond the trees. People were coming.

He raised Zar'roc high over his head, the red blade pointed straight downward, and as Morzan looked up their eyes met.

'Goodbye, Morzan,' Brom whispered, and brought Zar'roc down as hard as he could.

Morzan jerked once and then was still. Brom pulled the sword free with some effort and then turned and ran away as fast as he could. Arya was waiting not far away, holding the horses, her bow still slung on her back. The elf said not a word; she vaulted onto her horse's back and galloped away, and Brom mounted up and followed.

Moments later they were gone, swallowed up by the gentle greenness of the forest of the elves and lost to the realm of humans once more, leaving nothing but two corpses behind to tell the tale of their presence.

As Brom rode, Zar'roc still clasped awkwardly in one hand, he could feel his heart pounding so hard it made him feel sick. Morzan was dead, and Galbatorix as well. It was all over, and the Varden had won its struggle. Soon the Empire would collapse.

But as he made his escape, with Morzan's blood still wet on his hands, Brom felt nothing but misery.


	25. Long Live the King

Chapter Twenty-Five

Long Live the King

Galbatorix was trying to get up. Shruikan watched him anxiously and nudged him with his snout. _'Lie still. You're still weak.'_

But Galbatorix continued to try and pull himself upright. His motions were slow and feeble, and he was baring his teeth in pain. Shruikan could feel it coming through their link, and he knew that all was not yet well with his partner.

'_Galbatorix, you're hurt. Please, just rest now.'_

Galbatorix managed to get to his feet, pulling himself up by clasping Shruikan's elbow. He leaned on the black dragon's leg, gasping for breath, and then began to try and get on his back.

Shruikan pulled away as gently as he could. _'Galbatorix, no. Not now. You're not strong enough.'_

Galbatorix paused to rest, one hand pressed into his blood-stained chest. _'Morzan needs us. Please, Shruikan, we've got to… got to… he needs help, he's… he's…'_

'_Morzan can look after himself, Galbatorix. If you went out there you'd only be putting yourself in-,'_ Shruikan broke off and shuddered as he felt more pain come.

Galbatorix's grip slackened, and he fell. Shruikan caught him and gently laid him down on the shattered stonework, growling softly to soothe him. _'Be calm, be still, be calm, be still. You're safe, I've got you, I'm protecting you…'_

'_Shruikan, please. Please, help me, we can't stay, we've got to…'_ Galbatorix trailed off.

Shruikan could hear the sound of running feet on the staircase, and he looked up sharply, a snarl rising in his throat as he prepared to defend his rider.

People came, lots of them. They were carrying lanterns and talking in loud, worried voices, and they froze once they emerged into the open and saw Shruikan there, his wings half-open, baring his teeth. None of them dared approach while he was there, but then one ventured forward, step by step, and then knelt.

'My Lord Shruikan…'

Shruikan lowered his head toward the human and sniffed at him. Lord Walden, he realised, and relaxed a fraction.

'My Lord,' Walden repeated. 'Please, we're here to help the King.'

Shruikan probed at his mind, causing the old lord to wince, but he found no trace of deception there. He growled softly and backed away. Then he nudged Galbatorix toward them with his snout, entreating them with his eyes. They started to relax a little, and some began to venture closer.

Galbatorix was still awake. He was reaching toward Shruikan, silently pleading with him. Shruikan looked back, and then sighed. He forced himself to turn away, and took to the air with a slow, heavy beat of wings, leaving Galbatorix alone. He watched from the air as the little group of people gathered around him, their voices concerned.

Galbatorix lay very still, but his eyes were half-open and he was breathing. Lord Walden crouched by him and dared to touch his shoulder. 'Sire?'

Galbatorix cringed away from him, mumbling. 'No, don't… don't touch me…'

Walden looked at the servants. 'Go and get a stretcher,' he said sharply. 'NOW!'

They ran away back down the stairs. While they were gone, Walden checked Galbatorix's pulse. It was strong enough, but a little erratic.

'Sire, can you hear me? What happened up here? Are you hurt? Please, we have to know so that we can help you?'

Galbatorix took in a deep, shuddering breath. 'I've g… I've got to… help me get on… Shruikan. I have to… go… Morzan needs… help.'

'Sire, please, just tell us if you're hurt. Tell us anything you can.'

Galbatorix made another attempt to get up, and then slumped. 'There's… my shoulder… hurts. I th… I think… something… inside. My l- my lungs…' he started to cough; deep, hacking coughs that had blood in them.

The servants returned with the stretcher. Galbatorix resisted feebly as they slid him onto it. 'No, don't… don't…'

'It's all right, Sire,' said Walden, as they lifted the stretcher and began to carry it away down the stairs. 'You're going to be all right.'

Galbatorix's hands clenched. 'They mustn't… mustn't… don't… no-one can touch me. Tell them… don't touch me. It's t- it's t- it's… they'll die. All… die. I've g- where's… where's…? Shruikan…'

His voice grew fainter and more confused, and after that he slid into what might have been sleep but was probably a swoon. Walden followed the stretcher to the royal infirmary and into the large room reserved especially for the King, which had never been used up until that day. There Galbatorix was gently laid down on a bed, and the healers quickly gathered around him. Walden dismissed the servants and stood by anxiously while the healers stripped off Galbatorix's bloodied robe and the bandages still clinging to his chest. They washed the skin beneath, mopping away the blood. Underneath were old scars, and a rash of strange pockmarks, but Walden could not see any sign of a fresh injury, and he relaxed slightly.

'Is he all right?' he said, unable to stop himself from interrupting.

Grace, the head healer, turned to him. 'Please, my Lord,' she said politely. 'It would be better if you left for a little while, to give us room to work. I will inform you as soon as I know what the King's condition is.'

Walden nodded. 'Understood. Please, forgive me. I'll be outside.'

He left the infirmary. Outside he found a cluster of other nobles, most still wearing their nightclothes and looking extremely anxious.

'Walden!' a lady said the instant he appeared. 'Walden, what in the gods' names is going on? Someone said the King is dead!'

Walden patted her on the shoulder. 'It's all right, Nataliea. The King is alive.'

'But hurt?'

'I don't know. No-one's certain of what happened, other than that the top of the dragon roost has been demolished and that Lord Morzan left in a great hurry.'

'It's really been destroyed?' said another noble. 'Who by?'

'I don't know, but it must have been the King's dragon.'

'But why? What for?'

Walden shook his head. 'I don't understand dragons very well, but my guess is that he sensed something bad had happened to the King and destroyed the roost in order to get at him. He was standing guard over him when I arrived, but he obviously knew we were there to help because he let us take him inside.'

'Did he look hurt?' said the Lady Nataliea.

'Well… there was blood on him, but when the healers washed it away I couldn't see any visible wounds. But he's very weak. We're going to have to wait until the healers have done their work. Excuse me a moment.'

Walden hurried off and found a few guards wandering the corridors in evident confusion. 'You, come with me.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

Walden led them to the entrance to the infirmary, and nodded toward it. 'The King is in there being treated. Stand guard in the corridor in there, and don't let anyone in until the healers say it's all right.'

The guards nodded and hurried to obey.

Meanwhile, Walden turned to his fellow nobles. 'There's not much point in standing here all night. We don't know how long they'll be. I suggest we go to the dining hall and have something to eat. No doubt we'll be informed of the situation at the first possible opportunity.'

They went with him reluctantly, still asking questions.

'-Did he say anything-?'

'-How did he look?'

'Where did Lord Morzan go? Did you see him leave?'

Walden ignored them until he reached the dining hall, pausing only to send a servant to the kitchens to wake the cooks and have a light meal and some spiced wine prepared.

In the dining hall, he waited patiently while the lamps were lit and then sat down heavily at the table, his head in his hands.

The other nobles seated themselves, all talking at once.

'I knew something like this was going to happen. Ever since the King vanished like that. Madness, that's what it-,'

'Gods, what if he dies? What're we going to do then? There's no heir… who's going to take the throne?'

'Lord Morzan, for sure. I heard him say once he trusted him more than anyone else.'

'Lord Morzan? Oh great gods, not that oaf…'

'Well with the proper advice…'

'Oh, shut up.'

Walden's tone was weary, but the other nobles looked up sharply.

'Well,' said one. 'What can you tell us, Lord Walden? You've seen more of the situation than we have. What's your opinion?'

Walden shrugged. 'All I know is that I was woken up by the sound of the roost being destroyed, and that I went running to find out what was going on. I found out that Lord Morzan had gone into the forbidden quarter and had left one of the doors unsealed, and I went in that direction when I realised that was where the sound was coming from. Some other people had gathered there… servants mostly, and some of you. I hesitated over going in, of course, but when I heard the roost come down I knew I had to disobey orders because the King could be in danger. So I went in and took some servants with me, along with some guards. We didn't see anything until we got to the roost and climbed the stairs, and we found-,'

'Found what?' said the Lady Nataliea. 'What was up there?'

'The King's bedroom was in ruins,' said Walden. 'The roof had been torn off, and most of the walls. I could just see Lord Morzan's dragon flying away – hear her, too. And the King was there, with Shruikan. He was lying on the ground, trying to get up… there was blood all over his robe. I thought he was dying.'

Lady Nataliea shuddered. 'Walden, you don't think that Morzan-,'

'Morzan? No, never. Not in a hundred years.'

'Oh? Then why did he leave in such a hurry? Why wasn't he there helping the King?'

Walden waved them into silence. 'I'll tell you why. Because the King spoke to me after we found him, and he was saying how he had to go and _help_ Lord Morzan. In fact, he ordered me to help him onto Shruikan's back so he could go after him. And in any case, Lord Morzan cannot betray him. He is bound to the King by an oath in the ancient language, just as the rest of the other riders were. And no-one can break an oath like that. Not even a rider.'

'Then what happened?'

'I don't know, but with any luck we should find out soon. Ah, excellent.'

The spiced wine had arrived. Walden accepted his cup, and drank deeply. The others followed suit, in gloomy and anxious silence.

'Well,' said the Lady Nataliea. 'Do you think the King will be all right?'

'I have every faith in the royal healers,' said Walden. 'And in the King himself. He's a strong man. I've known him all my life, and I've never seen him ill or weak in any way. In fact, sometimes I even wondered if there was any truth to the legends that he was unkillable.'

'He frightens me,' another lord muttered. 'The way he stares at you, as if he knows everything in your head. And the way he… how old is he, Lord Walden?'

Walden scratched his head. 'Uh… well, he doesn't celebrate his birthday any more, but… well, he has to be more than a hundred years old by now.'

There was a muttering from around the table.

'My gods. A hundred years old. But he looks so… well not young, really, but… well, you know what I mean.'

'I don't understand how he does it,' said someone else. 'I've seen the other riders. They were all ageing. Lord Morzan looked at least sixty years old, but the King… nothing. Not a thing. Not so much as a single grey hair.'

'It must be magic,' said the Lady Nataliea. 'You know how vain he is. He probably uses spells to keep himself looking young.'

'Well,' said Walden. 'You can't pretend that you wouldn't do the same if you could, my Lady.'

She smiled very slightly. 'No. I suppose I can't lie about that.'

Fruit and cheese arrived a short time later, and they ate, whiling away the time as they waited for news.

Finally, Lord Walden pushed his plate away and stood up. 'I'm going to go to the infirmary and see if the healers are ready to tell me what's going on. You had better stay here – we don't want the corridors clogged up with people. I'll come back as soon as I have news.'

Lady Nataliea nodded. 'I understand. Be quick, Walden.'

'I shall.'

Walden left the dining hall and returned to the infirmary. The guards outside stood to attention when he arrived, and he nodded to them.

'At ease, you two. Is there any news from the healers?'

'We don't know, my Lord. No-one's come out yet.'

'Well just nip in and ask if they have any information for me, would you? We're very anxious to know about the King's condition.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

The guard vanished inside, and returned a few moments later with the head healer, Grace.

Walden beckoned to her to follow him, and the two of them had a hurried, whispered conversation in the corridor around the corner, where they wouldn't be heard.

'What's going on?' Walden demanded. 'Is the King-?'

Grace sighed. 'The King is very weak. We're not completely certain of what's wrong with him.'

'Will he recover?'

'It's too soon to say, my Lord. We've examined him, and…'

'Yes? Tell me everything.'

'The King is dangerously thin,' said Grace. 'He can't have been looking after himself properly in the empty quarter for all that time. There are bruises on his face, and on his back and shoulders as well. And there is a definite wheeze in his lungs. I can't say if it's from an injury, or from some form of disease, but…'

Queasiness twisted in Walden's stomach. 'But what?'

'The King has been coughing up blood,' said Grace.

'Oh gods… what does that mean?'

'There are no serious external injuries,' said Grace. 'But the King told us he has been stabbed, not just once but numerous times. He told us Lord Morzan healed them – there are still faint marks left behind. But he is still in pain. I think the healing failed to go all the way into his body – he has internal injuries. On the shoulder, stomach and chest, at the very least. I have… the wheeze and the blood would suggest that the King has at least one punctured lung.'

Walden had become very still. 'What does that mean?'

Grace closed her eyes for a moment. She seemed to be bracing herself. 'If… if the King has a punctured lung, then there is nothing we can do to treat it.'

'You don't mean-?'

'Yes. I'm sorry, my Lord, but… if his lung is punctured, then he will die within a few days.'

The words hit Walden almost like a physical blow. He resisted the urge to grab her and shout, but only just. His fists clenched. 'How likely is that?'

'It could be nothing,' Grace said hastily. 'It could be that the King has pneumonia, or that there is a cut inside his mouth. And sometimes a punctured lung heals on its own, if it isn't too severe. If the wheeze doesn't get any worse…'

'Magic could heal him properly,' said Walden. 'Couldn't it?'

'Yes, my Lord, but there are no magicians in the city-,'

'No, I understand,' said Walden. 'I shall write to Lord Morzan and summon him back here. A rider's magic should be enough.'

Grace nodded. 'It certainly could, my Lord.'

'Good. Keep the King alive until he arrives. Do whatever it takes.' Lord Walden dashed off.

Once the letter had been sent by bird to Gil'ead, there was nothing Walden could do but return to the dining hall and inform his fellow nobles of what was going on. He didn't give them the full story – spreading alarmist reports to the effect that the King was dying would cause nothing but disaster. He simply told them that Galbatorix was injured but that the healers were doing all they could, and that Lord Morzan had been summoned back to heal him. As soon as he arrived, everything would be all right. They were concerned but seemed placated by this, and once Walden had answered all their questions he retired to his own quarters, reluctant but knowing there was nothing left to be done for the time being. He would have to be up and about the next day to take care of business.

Next day he went to visit the infirmary before he'd even eaten breakfast, and found it guarded as before. The guards, though, let him through without protest, and he went straight to the largest room.

Galbatorix was there, half-buried in blankets, his hair hanging loose over his forehead. His eyes were closed, and Walden could hear his low, faint breathing. True to what Grace had said, there was an unmistakeable wheeze and rasp, mixed with an ominous gurgling.

Two of the three healers were absent, but Grace was still there, fast asleep on a temporary bed up against one wall. Walden moved quietly to avoid waking her up, and went to Galbatorix's side, watching him anxiously.

The King seemed completely unaware of his presence. One eye was bruised and swollen, as if he'd been struck in the face, and his skin was deathly pale. Without the normal faint blush of health, Walden could see faint scars standing out on Galbatorix's cheeks and forehead. They were long and strangely shaped, not like the marks of a dagger, or scratches inflicted by a tree branch. Walden frowned, wondering what they were. Had they always been there? They looked a little like claw-marks, as if some animal had scratched him.

He realised, eventually, that they were the marks of fingernails.

There was a livid, purplish mark on the side of the neck, too. Walden had seen it a few times and had often wondered what it was, but he hadn't dared ask. Galbatorix always hated it when people drew attention to things like that. It was common knowledge amongst the castle's occupants that the King was horribly scarred under his robe, and it made Walden shudder slightly now to contemplate the numerous injuries that must have left them all.

He watched Galbatorix closely, trying to convince himself that he looked well, but his ears refused to lie to him. The more he listened, the more he could hear that fatal rasp coming from his chest. Was it worse now than it had been before?

'My Lord?'

Walden turned sharply. Grace had woken up and was getting out of bed, looking tousled and exhausted, but alert. He stood aside. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you-,'

'No need to apologise, my Lord,' said Grace. She went straight to Galbatorix's side and began to inspect him, pulling back the bedclothes to examine his chest, checking his pulse and then gently putting her ear to his chest to listen to his breathing.

She sighed as she lifted her head, and muttered something under her breath.

'Well?' said Walden. 'How is he? Is he getting better?'

Grace picked up a bowl of water and began to dab Galbatorix's head with a wet cloth. 'The wheeze has become worse. I can hear the fluid in his left lung, and… I think I detected the beginnings of a wheeze in the other one as well.'

'You don't mean-?'

'It's only a suspicion, my Lord.' Grace hesitated, holding the cloth in one hand. 'Have you sent the message to Lord Morzan?'

'Yes. It should read Gil'ead in a few days… I have to assume he's gone back there. If Morzan receives it in good time, he should be back here in less than two weeks.'

'Two weeks…'

Walden looked at Galbatorix. 'Can he survive that long?'

'I don't know, my Lord. It all depends on how much strength he has, and how bad his injuries really are. If I have to… I can make a hole in his chest – into his lung, and try and drain the fluid out. But it would mean making another hole, and the method has never worked before. It would probably only kill him faster.' She looked grim.

Walden took hold of her shoulder. 'Just tell me, and be honest. How long can he survive?'

'I don't… if his condition gets any worse, he could be dead in less than two days. That's the honest truth, my Lord.'

Walden's grip on her tightened, and he abruptly let go of her and went to Galbatorix, looking down into his still face. 'Please, Sire,' he whispered. 'Please, keep fighting. Don't leave us. We need you here. Please, don't give up.'

One of Galbatorix's hands twitched very slightly, and he moaned in his sleep. Grace pressed the wet cloth into his forehead. 'Lord Morzan is coming, Sire,' she told him. 'He can help you. Just hold on, Sire. You need your full strength for this.'

Galbatorix stirred again at the sound of her voice, and mumbled something incoherent. Grace pulled the blankets over him, and he relaxed again.

'I'll go now,' said Walden. 'But please keep me informed. If anything happens, anything at all, no matter how small…'

'I understand, my Lord. I shall do everything I can.'

Walden patted her shoulder. 'I trust you, Grace.'

He left the room with a heavy heart, his ears full of the dreaded wheeze. _Please gods,_ he mumbled internally. _Please, don't let him die. Please, gods…_

Walden spent the rest of that day in agonies. Every time he heard someone come in he turned expecting to see a messenger come in with the news he was dreading: that the King was dead. He still hadn't told anyone else what was going on, but the castle was in an uproar nonetheless. Shruikan had taken up residence on a different tower and was refusing to leave it, and servants were busy in the empty quarter, cleaning and repairing. Workmen were already rebuilding the shattered dragon roost; Galbatorix's possessions had been retrieved and stored in the long-disused master bedroom, and Walden had been shocked to see how scant they were. A sword, a handful of fairths, a dragon saddle, a collection of robes, trousers and boots, and an impressive selection of combs and hairbrushes. That was all. After a life that had lasted more than a century, that was all he owned.

And still Walden waited for news from the infirmary. He had sent guards into the city to search for the assassins that had tried to kill the King, while others combed the empty quarter, trying to find out how they had got in. Walden had ordered for everyone in the castle to be questioned. So far nothing had come up. But when he heard a report from the captain of the guard that evening, there was one interesting detail that came up.

'The Lady Selena has disappeared, my Lord. No-one knows where she is.'

'Is it possible that she went with Lord Morzan?'

'It's not impossible, my Lord. But there is one other detail we have learned from the servants.'

'Yes? And what might that be, Captain?'

'The day before the attack, my Lord,' said the guard. 'The day Lord Morzan's son was injured. The Lady Selena left the castle in a great hurry; many people saw her. She did not return until the following day, and no-one seems to know where she went.'

Lord Walden's eyes narrowed. 'I see.'

'What would you have me do, my Lord?'

'We can't let this pass without further investigation,' said Walden. 'Put the word out to the other cites. The Lady Selena must be found and brought back here to be questioned. If she knows anything… see to it.'

'Yes, my Lord. Shall I send the command by bird?'

'Yes.'

The guard left, and Walden sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. So much work done, so much more to be completed, and still no word…

'My Lord?'

Walden looked up. Another guard had come in. With a horrible little shock, he realised it was one of those that had been posted at the infirmary.

Walden stood up. 'What is it?'

The guard bowed. 'I've been asked to request that you come to the infirmary at once, my Lord.'

Lord Walden needed no further prompting. He almost ran out of the room.

He didn't slow down until he reached the entrance to the infirmary, and there paused to straighten his clothes before he went in.

Grace was waiting for him in the doorway to Galbatorix's room. Her two colleagues were busy behind her.

'Lord Walden.'

'What's going on?' Walden said brusquely. 'How is he?'

'You'd better come in, my Lord.'

Walden followed her in, and went straight to Galbatorix's side. He was lying on his back, as before, but the moment he saw him Walden knew the news was bad. Galbatorix's face was beaded with sweat. He opened his mouth wide and gave a little jerk of the head with each breath. The gurgling was not just a faint hint now, but sickeningly audible. Walden could see his hands, lying on top of the bedclothes, clenching into fists as he struggled to breathe.

Walden stood very still in the entrance. He could feel himself going cold all over.

Grace stood beside him. 'We've done all we can, my Lord,' she said softly. 'The left lung has collapsed. He can't use it any more. The other one is better, but…'

'How long?' Walden snapped.

'One day. Maybe two. Maybe.'

'Aren't there any magicians in the castle? Magic could…'

'They've already been in here to see what they could do,' said Grace. 'But… there are no spells that can cure something like this, and no ordinary mage has the strength or control needed. Unless Lord Morzan comes very soon…'

Walden couldn't force himself to stay any longer. He turned sharply and left the infirmary.

When he rose the next day and went to visit the infirmary once again, he fully expected to be told that Galbatorix had died during the night. But Grace looked a little more hopeful now when she came out to see him.

'The right lung appears to be holding out,' she said. 'He can survive for a time with just one.'

'How much time?'

'A few days, if all goes well.'

A few days, in the end, turned out to be three. Walden kept busy, organising the repairs and the search of the city. Nothing was turned up. If there had indeed been rebels in the city, they were gone now. No word had come from Gil'ead yet, but the word had been put out for the Lady Selena to be found and brought back to Urû'baen immediately.

And all that while Galbatorix clung on to life. Each breath was a struggle, but he was breathing, and Walden managed to convince himself that he was starting to sound better.

And then, on the evening of the third day, a servant came to find him.

'My Lord, there is a message from Gil'ead. I don't know what to do with it, it's addressed to the King…'

Walden took it. 'I'm authorised to open the King's letters while he is unwell. Leave me.'

The servant departed, and Walden sat down and hastily unfurled the letter.

_To King Galbatorix Taranisäii I, Lord of Alagaësia_

_I write to you with grave tidings from Gil'ead. The Lord Morzan has been assassinated along with his dragon. The killing is believed to be the work of the Varden, but so far the culprits have not been caught. I have enclosed his last message, which he composed shortly before his death._

_His body has been preserved and is being sent back to Urû'baen to be interred, along with the ashes of his dragon._

_Yours in great sorrow,_

_Lord Theremin_

Lord Walden buried his face in his hands. 'Oh no…'

It was a long time before he could get up again. Moving like a frail, exhausted old man, he shuffled out of the room and made for the only place he could think of going to: the infirmary.

Grace was waiting for him. 'My Lord, the King is… my Lord?'

Walden had walked straight past her to Galbatorix's side, the letter still clasped in his hand.

Galbatorix was worse. Walden could see it immediately. He was no longer jerking with each breath, but was lying very still, almost rigidly so. His mouth was stuck wide open, teeth bared as if he were shouting. His breathing had become agonisingly slow, and now he paused between each one. There was a tinge of blue on his lips, and his skin had turned grey.

Walden sat down sharply, hitting the floor with a thump.

Grace helped him up. 'Please, my Lord, just sit down…'

Walden let her lead him to it, and sat down with his shoulders hunched, looking away from the bed. 'He's dying, isn't he?' he mumbled.

Grace hesitated. 'I…'

'Don't lie. He's dying. He's not going to survive to the end of the week.'

'No,' Grace said softly. 'I'm sorry, my Lord, but… the King's other lung is beginning to collapse as well. He can barely breathe now. He is beginning to suffocate.'

The letter crumpled in Walden's hand. 'The Lord Morzan…'

'Has he written, my Lord?'

'No. This letter is from Lord Theremin, in Gil'ead. Lord Morzan is dead. He has been assassinated.'

Grace went pale. 'Oh no…'

Lord Walden stood up. 'I am going to go and break the news to the other nobles. Send for me if there's any change.'

It took him some time to locate his fellow Lords and Ladies, but they came quickly enough once they had been alerted. Walden gathered them together in the throne room, and they gathered together in a loose group, all questions.

'Walden, what's going on? What's the news?'

Walden took in a deep breath. 'I have… just received word from Gil'ead.'

'Is Lord Morzan coming, then?'

'No. Morzan has been assassinated.'

'Oh _no._ Is it certain?'

'Yes. His body is being sent back here.'

'Well can the King-?'

'No,' Walden said again. He couldn't bear to draw it out any longer, and plunged on regardless. 'I… my Lords… the King is dying.'

Consternation broke out.

'No!'

'Lord Walden, for the gods' sakes-!'

'_The King is dying_,' Walden said again, cutting across them. 'I have seen him, and spoken to the healers. He has two punctured lungs, and there has been no improvement. He will be dead before tomorrow.'

Silence.

Lady Nataliea stood up. 'I'm going to go and see this for myself.'

Walden saw no point in trying to stop her, and followed her and the rest of the nobles to the infirmary. The guards let them through rather unwillingly, and a moment later they had all crammed themselves into the main room and had gathered around Galbatorix's bed. The King didn't appear to have changed since Walden had last saw him, but every one of the nobles could see how serious his condition was.

All of them started talking at once, some to each other, some to Walden and some even to Galbatorix, calling his name in the hopes that this would somehow make him wake up. Most of them, though, began harrassing Grace and the other two healers, who suddenly found themselves being bombarded with questions.

Walden, scarcely able to move amid the press of bodies, immediately wished he hadn't let them enter. He could just see Galbatorix, lost amid the mass, and rage rose up inside him.

'All right!' he roared. 'That's enough! Get out of here! Yes, I mean all of you! Go on, get out, you're disturbing him! _Move,_ godsdammit!'

It wasn't easy. He hustled them out, one by one, and they went reluctantly, complaining and resentful. Walden went with the last of them, casting apologetic glances back at the healers.

Once he'd got them back into the corridor, he confronted them. 'All right, that's enough. Shut up. Yes, that includes you.'

Lady Nataliea was a mix of worry and anger. 'There was no call for that, Walden.'

'Yes there was. For gods' sakes, the King is a grave condition and the last thing he needs is to be smothered by a crowd of people. Now listen; there's nothing we can do right now, so I suggest you go back to your homes. When I have news, I'll send it to you immediately, understood? And not a word to anyone about this. Not one word. Not even to each other.'

They understood that well enough, and dispersed, forgetting their aggravation toward him in the face of the situation they were now in. Walden knew what they were all thinking. None of them could remember a time when Galbatorix had not been King, and few of them would ever have contemplated what would happen if he were to die. The King's powers were so feared, and his strength so well-known, that most people believed he could never be killed. Even Walden, who had always prided himself on his practicality, had fallen into that trap.

He went to the dining hall for the evening meal, deep in gloomy thought.

It was true, he knew. All his life he had served under his King, and he had never known him to falter or to neglect his duties. Other rulers – even the other riders – liked to enjoy plenty of leisure time when they could get it. Riding, hunting, visiting neighbouring cities to attend feasts and celebrations… there were plenty of pleasures to be had if one was wealthy and powerful enough. But Galbatorix was not like that. He did not take time off. Never. No hunting trips, no non-essential visits, no indulgences, no fancy clothes or elaborate meals or entertainment. The most Walden had ever seen him do was retire to the library for a few hour's quiet reading. Most of the time his outfit consisted of a plain black robe, simply cut, a pair of black trousers and a set of leather boots. He wouldn't even wear the crown unless he had to. All he ever did, as far as Walden knew, was eat, sleep and work. Day in, day out. Everything organised, everything attended to. He refused to delegate anything he considered important, and even if something _was_ delegated the delegatee could expect constant visits from the King, demanding reports and giving commands. Nothing, it seemed, was too trivial for him to pay attention to, and Walden had conceived a deep and terrible admiration for him. It was the only honest response anyone could give.

And if the King died now, and no-one was there to do all these things in his place…

Walden finished eating and pushed his plate aside. He hadn't been able to eat much. He poured himself another cup of wine and drank it more quickly than he should have. Outside, the sky was beginning to darken. Soon… very soon…

It felt like days had passed before he heard the inevitable knock on the door.

'Come in.'

It was Grace. 'My Lord…'

Walden stared at the tabletop. 'Just tell me.'

Grace was silent for a long time. She took a deep breath, sighed, paused and then finally looked up. 'My Lord, I…'

Walden nodded silently.

'The King is dead,' Grace said at last.


	26. Resistance

Chapter Twenty-Six

Resistance

Walden stood up. 'May I see him?' he asked softly.

'Of course.'

The walk back to the infirmary felt very long. By now most of the servants had left for their own quarters, and the only people they met were the guards still patrolling the passage outside the infirmary. They let them through without saying a word.

As soon as Walden entered the infirmary, he heard something that unsettled him. It was faint, but unmistakeable, and he stopped in the corridor.

'What is that?'

'Lord Morzan's son,' said Grace. 'His wound is still hurting him.'

'Oh.'

When he entered the largest room, Walden could feel how the atmosphere had changed. There was a coldness in the air now, as if the room itself knew what had happened.

Grace's two fellow healers were there, sitting by the wall with their heads bowed, not saying a word. A single lamp was burning on the small table by the bed, its light thrown over what lay there.

Galbatorix was on his back, as before, his hands clasped on his chest. The rigid snarl had vanished from his face and he was lying still, mouth slightly open, his face relaxed into a kind of sad tiredness. There was no wheeze now, and no gurgle. Nothing but deathly silence.

Walden stood over him, silent and unmoving. There was no need to ask any questions.

'My Lord?'

Walden said nothing.

'My Lord,' Grace said again. 'Shall I… shall I remove the body, or would you prefer to keep it here so that…?'

Walden shook his head vaguely. 'It's too early. I need… I need to be alone for a while. I need to think.'

Grace nodded. 'Understood.' She beckoned to her two colleagues. 'We'll be in the next room when you need us, my Lord.'

Walden didn't turn to watch them go. He heard the door shut behind them, and sat down in the chair next to the bed, watching the still body of the King. The last of the riders, dead…

Walden sighed, a deep, exhausted sigh. 'Gods, Sire… what are we going to do now?'

No reply, of course. Only silence.

What now?

Walden knew, of course. Chaos. Anarchy. The nobles would all begin fighting amongst themselves, contesting for the throne, and, no matter who came out on top, civil war would be the result. If there were any other riders left in the country then one of them would have automatically taken control. But with them gone… with the old order now completely wiped out…

Walden looked up again. 'How are we going to survive without you, Sire?'

Murtagh's wailing was still coming through from the next room. As Lord Walden turned to look irritably at the door, he did not see what happened next. He didn't see the quick, convulsive twitch. He didn't see Galbatorix's mouth open wide to gasp in air, or see his eyes snap open. But he heard what followed.

A soft cough came from the figure on the bed, followed by others, loud and harsh. Lord Walden turned sharply, and froze in astonishment.

Galbatorix lurched into a sitting position, hands pressed into his chest, and coughed, harder and harder. Blood and mucus started to appear around his lips, and he turned and spat a mouthful of it over the side of the bed. More came, and he started to gasp for breath. The gurgling was still there, but as he coughed on, his back heaving, more of the fluid from his lungs was expelled. He slumped back onto the pillows, wheezing horribly.

Walden finally snapped out of his confusion. He shouted for the healers and they came running and stopped dead in the doorway when they saw what was going on. One of them screamed, but Grace, with more presence of mind, ran straight to Galbatorix, shouting at her colleague to come with her. The two of them took hold of the King's bony shoulders and lifted him into a sitting position, and Grace thumped him hard on the back, encouraging him to breathe. He coughed still harder, gagging on the breath in his lungs. Then he vomited. Grace gestured at the third healer to clean up the mess, and did her best to make Galbatorix comfortable. He lay still, groping weakly at the blankets. He was breathing much more strongly now, and coughing occasionally, but little by little that died down and he sighed and relaxed.

Grace picked up the bowl of water and dabbed at his forehead. 'Just relax, Sire,' she soothed. 'You're safe.'

Galbatorix was silent for a while, apparently dazed, but there was an alertness in his eyes. He mouthed silently, trying to speak, then broke off and coughed again.

'Don't try and speak, Sire,' said Grace. 'It's all right, you don't have to say anything. Rest now.'

Walden finally recovered himself and came closer. 'Sire! Dear gods, this is…'

Galbatorix's eyes turned toward him. He blinked and took in a deep breath. '…Walden? Is that… you…?'

Relief went rushing through Walden like water from a burst dam. 'Yes, Sire, it's Lord Walden. How do you feel?'

Galbatorix coughed again. 'Gods… I… feel horrible. Can I… have some water, please?'

The cup had to be put into his hand for him, and he drank the contents with some assistance. That seemed to make him feel a little better.

Walden mopped his forehead. 'We… we thought you were dead, Sire.'

Galbatorix coughed. 'Sorry.'

'Good gods, Sire, there's no need to…' Walden turned to Grace. 'You told me he was dead!'

'Well I thought he was!' said Grace. She was looking very flustered, and no wonder. 'I checked his pulse and couldn't find one, he didn't respond to a prick with a pin, he wasn't breathing as far as I could tell…'

Galbatorix groaned. 'Oh… no.'

'Is he going to be all right now?' said Walden.

Grace checked Galbatorix's pulse and temperature, and then listened to his breathing. He didn't like that much and made a feeble attempt to push her off him, but one of the other healers gently restrained him until she was finished.

Grace straightened up. 'Well… as far as I can tell, his lungs are nearly back to normal. Strong heartbeat, no temperature. I… he seems to be almost completely recovered.'

She had gone very pale, Walden noticed.

'But how is that possible? Can injured lungs heal themselves just like that?'

'I really… in my experience, my Lord… never.'

Galbatorix had been listening. 'Close… the door,' he said.

One of the healers hurried to obey.

Galbatorix tried to sit up, unsuccessfully. 'Help me.'

The three healers stacked pillows behind him and lifted him into a sitting position, and he sat back against them, pale and shaky, and still breathing raggedly, but apparently in full command of his senses. He looked down at himself, examining his still-bare chest and running his fingers over the clammy skin. He appeared to relax slightly, and then looked up, fixing Walden and the three healers with the penetrating stare he remembered so well.

'There's no… need to be alarmed,' he said. His voice was low and hoarse, but clear enough. 'I will be… fine. I just need… rest. Just for a few hours.'

'Take as much rest as you need, Sire,' said Walden. 'I can see to things until you've recovered.'

'Yes, yes, I know. I trust you… Walden.'

'Sire,' said Walden. 'I don't want to trouble you, but I must ask – what happened? Who hurt you?'

'Assassins,' said Galbatorix. 'Varden… assassins. Two of them. They got into my room. I don't know how. I woke up, and they were there. I thought I was dreaming. And then they stabbed me. Over and over. Everywhere.'

Walden shuddered. 'But you survived, Sire.'

'Morzan. He healed me with magic. He must have… seen them escaping. He went after them. North. They went… North.'

'To Gil'ead, Sire. We've… deduced that much.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Good, good. Morzan will… catch them. He's my… strong right arm, after all. Has he… how long…?'

'Four days, Sire.'

'Four days… did he catch them?'

'Uh… I don't know, Sire.'

'Well…' Galbatorix tried to get up, but then slumped back and closed his eyes. 'I need… rest. When… Morzan sends word… tell me at once. Wake… wake me up if you have to.'

'I…I will, Sire.'

Galbatorix was already asleep by the time Lord Walden had left. He tried, briefly, to resist, but it was outside his control. Weakness tightened its stranglehold on him and he slid into something that was closer to a faint than to true sleep, though his conscious mind was screaming out for him to get up. He had seen Lord Walden's shocked face, and had wanted to try and put him at his ease, to reassure him that he was fine. He wanted to do the only thing he knew how to do; take command. But he couldn't.

He slept for hours, woke and slept again. The next time he woke up he had no idea of what day or time of day it was. One of the healers was there, and gave him water and some food. He managed to take it and keep it down, but when he tried to command her to summon Lord Walden the words refused to form and all he could do was lie still and try to breathe. His lungs were still agony, but the sores were showing no sign of returning yet, and as he lay there helplessly he started to wonder if maybe the disease was gone. Maybe the pain was from the assassins' blades. Maybe he was going to get better.

But if the sores came back… if anyone saw them… if anyone touched him then…

He could feel his heart pattering frantically, like a bird trapped in a cage. He tried to get up, straining with all his might, but his hands slid out from under him and his head kept falling onto the pillows.

Gentle hands pushed him back down. 'Rest, Sire. Just rest. Don't exert yourself.'

'I… want…'

'What do you want, Sire? Water? Here, drink. Slowly, Sire.'

A cup was pressed against his lips, and he drank. The water soothed him a little, and helped wet his dry mouth. He tried to speak again. 'Don't… don't t… I don't need…'

'What is it, Sire?'

'Lea… _leave me_,' he managed.

'Yes, Sire. I'll be back to check on you soon, Sire. If there's anything you need…'

He nodded, once, and she left, closing the door behind him. Once she had gone, he made another attempt to get up. But it was as if his body was made out of lead. He couldn't lift it off the bed. His limbs were slow and clumsy, and dull pain throbbed in his chest and joints. He felt as if he had aged a thousand years all at once.

He gave up eventually, and lay still, listening to his own low, laboured breaths. Once he had rested, forcing himself to stay awake, he reached out with his mind, searching for Shruikan. The black dragon was there, and responded to his mind immediately.

'_Galbatorix! I haven't sensed you in days – how are you?'_

Galbatorix managed to lift a hand, and rubbed his eyes. _'I've been better. Shruikan, what's going on? Is Morzan back yet?'_

'_No. He and Idün went back to Gil'ead. Where are you?'_

'_In the infirmary. They're looking after me. Shruikan, they know about it. About the spell.'_

'_Why? You didn't tell them, did you?'_

'_No. I… died. And then came back. They were there when it happened. They don't understand what's going on, I haven't told them. They think they were mistaken. But they're frightened. I know they are. They know I… I could hear them talking, before. When I was first brought in. I couldn't speak, but I was awake. Those… the people who attacked me. They stabbed me in the lungs.'_

Shruikan already knew what that meant. _'They're right to be afraid. If they saw you recover from that…'_

'_Well… people already believe I can't be killed. Now it's not just a legend. Shruikan, listen, I've got to get out of here. If the disease comes back and they see it – if someone catches it from me…'_

'_Are you sure it's coming back?'_

'_Shruikan, you know it'll come back. Sooner or later the sores will start reopening. They've done it so many times before. Magic can't cure it. Not mine, not Morzan's, not anyone's.'_

'_Perhaps it would be better if they did know about it,'_ Shruikan said gently. _'Galbatorix, you know you can't keep trying to look after yourself. Shutting yourself away like that nearly destroyed you. You need people to help you.'_

'_No! They – can't – _know!_ Shruikan, for the love of gods, what would people do if they knew their King had the plague? If they knew he was too weak to fight? The rebels are still out there, if they find out how much I've… I can't die, but I can still be overthrown. They could raise an army – join forces with the elves, or the dwarves. Imagine what would happen if they overran the castle. I'd be… they can't kill me, but they can kill you. And me… they'll cut my head off. I can't survive that. Or they'd burn me, or just throw me in a dungeon and leave me there forever. There's a million things they could do to me. And the Empire would be lost.'_

'_But if you only told a few people…'_

'_Which people, Shruikan? Those rebels didn't get into the castle on their own. Someone was helping them from inside. They have spies in here. It could be anyone. Even one of the nobles. Even one of my officials. I can't trust anyone.'_

'_Yes… I understand, Galbatorix. Calm down. You're still the King. If you order them to leave you alone…'_

'_I can't speak properly. Shruikan, I need some of your strength. I can't get up under my own power.'_

'_Then I'll help you. But… be careful.'_

There was silence for a time, and then Galbatorix felt something travel over their link that was not a word or an emotion. It was an energy. The strength of a dragon flowed into his body. He felt his skin turn burning hot, and his face twitched briefly, the eyes flashing gold.

As the feeling receded, he felt the weakness go with it. He sat up carefully, and slid out of bed. His bare feet hit the stone floor, and he shivered slightly and then let his weight onto them. The room lurched around him and he grabbed the head of the bed to steady himself. The wood felt good and solid under his fingers, and he sighed. There was still a catch in his breath, and he coughed again, wincing at the pain.

No time to lose. He scanned the room and eventually spotted his robe, draped over the back of a chair. He lurched over to it and picked it up. Someone had cleaned it and darned the holes left by the daggers. He smiled to himself and put it on. The cloth felt warm and comforting against his skin. He did up the fastenings, his fingers still clumsy, and then looked for his boots. They were nowhere to be seen, and he shrugged and made for the door.

He opened it carefully and peered through. There was no-one in sight. Good.

Moving slowly, running on borrowed strength, he began the journey down the corridor. There were guards at the end; he could see them dimly by the light of the single lamp hanging from the roof. Well, that shouldn't be a problem. He could just order them to leave. If he could make his voice work.

He stopped, leaning against the wall, and tried to say something, but the best he could manage was a low, hoarse whisper. It would do. He straightened up and made determinedly for the end of the corridor.

As he neared it, he heard the sound of voices. Someone was coming. He froze and then flattened himself against the wall. He heard the guards move aside with a soft clank of armour, and hastily ducked through the nearest doorway to hide. The room beyond turned out to be another private ward, much smaller than his own. Galbatorix hid himself in a shadow by the door and waited for the footsteps to pass. There was a sound from the bed, and he tensed immediately, but when he looked more closely he realised that it was only a child.

No. Not just a child. It was Murtagh.

Galbatorix glanced toward the door, and then moved closer. Murtagh was lying on his side, with his back toward him. His tunic had been removed, but his torso was heavily bandaged, covering the terrible wound. He was moaning in his sleep, one tiny hand twitching slightly.

Galbatorix stood by the bed, watching him, and sighed. At least Murtagh was all right.

He remembered Morzan's last words to him, before he had left.

'I'll look after you,' he whispered. 'I promise. I swear I'll keep you safe.'

He reached out to touch him, but then withdrew, his expression twisting suddenly into a look that was somewhere between pain and a terrible hatred.

Murtagh stirred, and Galbatorix turned abruptly away. In the corridor outside, he could hear the shouts.

'Sire! Sire!'

He sighed and limped slowly toward the door. Behind him, Murtagh woke up and started to cry. He could hear running footsteps from outside, and knew they had discovered that he was missing and begun searching for him.

Very briefly, he considered hiding. No. Not now. Not any more.

He could feel the energy borrowed from Shruikan starting to run out even as he made those few steps, and knew he wouldn't get far. His own strength was almost gone.

He reached the door and grabbed hold of the frame to hold himself up. There were several people in the corridor, turning toward him, and he waited resignedly as they came to him, all relief and concern.

'Sire! There you are!'

Galbatorix pressed one hand into his chest, and breathed deeply. 'I'm fine,' he rasped.

Walden was there, and gestured to two of the servants with him. They came forward and helped to support Galbatorix, holding him by the shoulders. He leant on them, trying to catch his breath. He'd overexerted himself, he realised; his lungs refused to expand properly, and his breath came in gasps.

'Get him back to bed,' Walden commanded the servants.

'No,' Galbatorix half-whispered as they half-carried him back toward his own ward. 'No, I don't-,'

'It's all right, Sire,' said Walden. 'You need rest, to get your strength back.'

Galbatorix tried to resist, but it was hopeless. Helpless anger started to rise inside him. They were forcing him to go where he didn't want to. They weren't _listening_ to him.

With a sudden burst of strength, he grabbed hold of Walden's arm as they passed him.

Walden didn't try and pull away. 'What is it, Sire? What do you want me to do?'

The servants had come to a halt, but Galbatorix tried desperately to find his voice again, fearful that they would take him away before he'd managed it.

He coughed and groaned, but tried again, and Walden leaned in close to listen.

'I w-,' Galbatorix coughed again. 'I w… I want to go back… to my room. You – will – take me… back, understand?'

Walden straightened up. 'Your bedroom has not yet been repaired, Sire. But if you want to leave the infirmary, we can move you to the master bedroom.'

Galbatorix nodded vaguely.

Walden summoned another servant. 'You – go and get a stretcher.'

Galbatorix glared at him. 'I don't need…' he pulled away from the servants and tried to walk off out of the infirmary, which proved to be a mistake. The corridor lurched around him and he staggered sideways and hit the wall. He tried to recover himself, but he couldn't tell which way he was supposed to go. Everything was turning grey.

Someone grabbed his arm. He shrugged them off and set off in a random direction, but then his legs folded and he pitched forward, hitting the ground with a painful thump.

Galbatorix struggled to get up, mouthing dark elvish curses, but it was already too late. He was already surrounded by people, taking control of him again. They turned him over onto his back and made him lie still, telling him to relax, telling him he was all right. He tried to push them away, but they held his arms down until he finally gave up. A short time later they lifted him onto a stretcher and carried him away.

His escape attempt cost him dear. He spent the next few days in the master bedroom, unable to do anything but stay in bed. He slept most of the time, and rarely stayed awake long enough to do more than take a few mouthfuls of food and drink. Lord Walden and some of the other nobles and officials came to visit him every now and then; he would wake up and find them there, watching over him. But his lungs and throat still hurt and he couldn't speak to them.

He lost all sense of time, and much of his sense of space as well. Whenever he woke up he would take in his surroundings, trying to remember where he was and how he had come to be there, and how long ago. Every time he remembered, he forgot it again. But he could feel himself slowly getting stronger. Eventually he was able to sit up and eat properly, and breathing became easier and less painful.

At last the day came when he woke up and found his head fully clear for the first time since the attack. He managed to sit up without help, and found a cup of water next to the bed. He drank the contents and, revived, checked his chest. No sores. He was still safe.

He looked around. There was no-one in the room, but sunlight was coming in through the window.

Just as he was beginning to wonder if he should try and get out of bed, the door opened and one of the three healers came in.

She looked pleased when she saw him. 'Good morning, Sire. How do you feel?'

Galbatorix coughed carefully. 'Fine, thankyou.' Relief flooded through him. At last his voice was back.

The healer felt his forehead. 'You look much better, Sire. Your temperature is down. May I listen to your lungs, Sire?'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'If you want to.'

She did so. 'They sound much better now. Would you like something to eat, Sire?'

Galbatorix coughed again. His throat still hurt horribly. 'No. Go and get…' he saw the chest from his room, resting in a corner, and nodded toward it. 'Open it. There are bottles of potion inside. Bring me some.'

The healer obeyed at once, bringing over three small glass phials containing a green potion. 'Are these the ones, Sire?'

'Yes.' Galbatorix took one. It took several tries to pull the cork out, but once it had come he downed the contents in one swallow.

The instant it had gone down his throat, a miraculous energy rushed into his body. The colour came back into his face, and strength returned to his limbs. He took the remaining two vials and emptied them as well, and by the time he was done he felt a hundred times better. His mind cleared, and his drowsiness and weakness were gone. The aches and pains were still there, but he knew that he had the energy now to do what he needed to do.

He put his right hand to his throat. 'Waíse heill!'

Black energy glowed around his fingers and vanished through his skin, and the pain faltered, faded, and then disappeared altogether. Once that was done he cast the healing spell on his chest, letting the magic sink deep into his body, to where the pain still lingered.

It took some time. The spell quickly began to drain away the potion's energy, and he could feel his new strength starting to leave him. But he kept on concentrating and did not stop until all the pain had gone and his hand slumped back to his side. He lay still, breathing deeply. Nothing. No more pain, no more wheeze. His limbs were trembling slightly, but he was healed.

'Oh… thank gods,' he mumbled. 'That's better.'

The healer had watched him, not daring to interfere, and now she quietly removed the empty bottles. 'I didn't know we had any of that in the castle, Sire. I really am very sorry; if I had known I would have brought it to you immediately.'

Galbatorix waved her into silence. 'You're not to blame. Thankyou for taking care of me; you did an excellent job. Now, could you please go and fetch Lord Walden if he's available? Don't worry, I'm more than strong enough to see him now.'

'Yes, Sire. At once.'

Once the healer had left, Galbatorix paused to gather his remaining strength and then slid out of bed. It was much easier now; the floor didn't lurch underneath him and his legs were steady enough. He took a few tentative steps away from the bed, and found that it wasn't too hard. Good. If he didn't exert himself too much for a few days he would be more or less back to his full strength by the end of it.

He smiled a small, triumphant smile and went to the cupboard. Sure enough, someone had salvaged his clothes from his old room and hung them up inside. He selected one of his warmest robes and put it on, along with a new pair of trousers. And… he groaned quietly in embarrassment when he saw that someone had also collected up the boots he'd made during his retreat and had neatly lined them up in the bottom of the wardrobe.

He put a pair of them on anyway. They were quite a good fit, and he felt ridiculously proud of the fact. He hadn't lost his touch.

Fully clad and feeling much more like himself, he crossed to the dressing table and inspected himself in the mirror.

That took away some of his fragile good cheer.

Galbatorix prodded at his face, trying to convince himself that it was actually his. The one he could see in the mirror looked awful. It was fleshlessly thin, the eyes sunken and red-rimmed and the beard hopelessly overgrown. And his hair was an unspeakable mess.

'Oh great gods in a tree…'

He fumbled for a comb and started to drag it through his hair, not caring when the tangles caught in the teeth and made his scalp hurt. He wrenched them out and threw them away, then attacked what was left with a kind of mad fervour and swearing under his breath. He was much too weak to risk using a spell on it, but he still felt half-inclined to try.

When he was partway into bringing some kind of order out of the chaos, there was a knock at the door and Lord Walden came in.

Galbatorix got up to meet him, still holding the comb in one hand. 'Ah, Lord Walden. Good morning… I think.'

Walden was looking tired and harrassed, and a little shocked. 'Sire! I'm so glad to see you well again.'

'So am I, Lord Walden. I should be back to normal in a week at most. Now…' Galbatorix looked around and spotted another chair. He gestured at it. 'Please, sit down. There are a few things I want to discuss with you.'

Walden fetched it and brought it over. 'Are you sure you feel well enough, Sire?'

Galbatorix sat down and stuffed the comb into his pocket. 'Yes. I had-,' he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the still-open chest. 'I had a few bottles of strengthening potion in there and got the healer to bring me some. I've healed the last of my injuries; all I need to do now is avoid too much stress for a while. Now…'

Lord Walden had sat down too. 'As you wish, Sire.'

'Now,' Galbatorix said again. 'How long was I unwell?'

'Uh… more than a week, Sire.'

Galbatorix muttered a dark elvish swearword under his breath. 'I see. And have you had any luck in catching the people who assaulted me?'

'I… well, we deduced that they must have entered and escaped the castle via the catacombs, Sire. We explored them and discovered a secret passage leading out of the city. They fled toward Gil'ead, that much is certain. We have had reports from there – they fled into Du Weldenvarden and were not caught.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'They're well-organised, I'll give them that. And if they went to Du Weldenvarden then elvish involvement is certain. I'm sure Morzan did his best. So you haven't made any arrests?'

'No, Sire.'

'No positive leads?'

'Other than what I've already shared with you, Sire… no, Sire.'

'Well they can't hide from me forever,' said Galbatorix. 'As soon as I've rested a little, I'll take charge of it again. Has Morzan returned to Urû'baen yet?'

'Uh… no, Sire, not yet.'

'Send him to see me the moment he does. I'm sure we can work together and come up with a good stategy. A few…' Galbatorix stopped suddenly. There was a look on Lord Walden's face… a momentary flicker that made him hesitate. He stared at him, feeling an unpleasant anticipation in the pit of his stomach. 'There's something you haven't told me yet,' he said. '…isn't there?'

'Sire, I really think you should-,'

'I really think,' Galbatorix said icily, 'That you should stop hiding information from me and tell me what I need to know. Has something happened?'

'It can wait, Sire. Until you're stronger. It's just that-,'

Galbatorix's stare was nothing short of ghastly. 'You will tell me everything. Now.'

The last of Walden's resistance faded. 'Well… Sire… the news is bad.'

Galbatorix's tension increased. 'How so? Is it about the Varden?'

'Yes, Sire. You see… well the Varden has been growing, Sire.'

'By how much?'

'Well… as far as I know, Sire, many people have begun leaving cities and villages and gone to join the Varden. They've formed some kind of stronghold, that much is certain, and they're recruiting new members from the population at large. Information so far is sketchy, but the elves are most definitely helping them and… well we think the dwarves may have sided with them as well.'

If Galbatorix was shocked, it didn't show on his face. 'You're certain of this?'

'Yes, Sire, absolutely. We have informers who have been feeding us this information.'

'Then why…' Galbatorix spoke slowly and deliberately, and though his voice was level there was pure rage behind every word, 'Then why in the gods' names haven't you been doing anything to stop them?'

'We've been trying, Sire, but there are problems with communication between the cities and without the… the country has become too accustomed to peace, Sire,' Lord Walden said simply. 'It isn't prepared for something of this magnitude.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'Why now? I don't understand. Why so suddenly?'

'Word got out that you were dead, Sire,' said Walden. 'We don't know how. But that is why we're certain the Varden was behind the assassination attempt, Sire. They must have believed that they had succeeded and that with you gone the time was now right to begin trying to take over the country.'

Galbatorix closed his eyes for a moment. 'Fine,' he said softly, looking up. 'If that's how they repay me, then so be it. They'll find out what happens to traitors soon enough. Is that all you have to tell me, Lord Walden?'

Walden hesitated. 'Y-es, Sire.'

'Well thank gods for small mercies. You can go now. I have to clean myself up and then I should probably sleep a little. But we can meet again later in the dining hall and start making plans.'

'Yes, Sire.' Lord Walden started to stand up, unable to completely hide his relief.

'Just one more thing,' said Galbatorix.

'Yes, Sire?' Walden sat down again, his air resigned.

'Where is Morzan? I seem to remember being told he was coming back to Urû'baen. He should have arrived by now – what's happened to him?'

'Sire, I…' Lord Walden paused. He tried to look away, but something dragged his gaze back to Galbatorix's face. The moment he saw the look there, he knew there was nothing he could do to hide it any longer. 'Sire,' he said softly. 'There's… there's something I have to tell you.'


	27. Always Alone

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Always Alone

Morzan's funeral took place on the day his body arrived back at Urû'baen. It had been magically preserved and still looked as it had done a few hours after his death.

A small crowd of people gathered in the catacombs to witness its entombing; mostly nobles who had known him in life. Murtagh too was there, standing beside his nursemaid in a black tunic and leggings and holding the little leather dragon in one hand. The child's face was pale and wan, and its usual solemn expression was tight with pain.

He stood by in silence as his father's armoured body was placed inside the tomb with Idün's ashes, along with a sword whose blade had been painted red to resemble Zar'roc.

Galbatorix was there too, wearing a plain robe, the crown resting on his hair, which was now well-groomed and glossy as it had been before, his beard neatly trimmed. Standing there by the open tomb, lit by the blue-glass lanterns that the mourners had brought, he looked regal and self-controlled – every bit a King, even in spite of his plain clothes. His pale, thin face was cold and dispassionate, the eyes glittering and fathomless, without the slightest hint of emotion anywhere in them. He looked like a man who had never been touched by sorrow, or compassion, or love, and he showed no sign of being aware that he was about to bury the remains of what had been his only surviving friend. And yet, though he was surrounded by people, he looked completely and utterly alone.

He began the funeral rites, his voice low and level.

'In life, as in death, let his man be remembered. Lord Morzan Drasborn, son of Murtagh and Cillian, born in Dras-Leona, let him be remembered for all he was and all he did in life, and let his death be but a final chapter in a glorious book. May he find peace and rest, and may his memory be honoured by friend and foe alike. May none speak ill of him from hereon, for in death all but a man's virtues are forgotten. Courage. Honesty. Integrity. Duty. Justice. Honour. These are the virtues of a rider, and the virtues which Morzan Drasborn, son of Murtagh, upheld until his dying day. May peace embrace him now that his journey is ended, may his soul be bound for eternity to that of his dragon, Idün, as it was in life, that the two of them be united in love until the very ending of the world itself. All this I beseech of the great power of life and death which binds us all, in the names of the great men and dragons of the past. Receive our departed Morzan Drasborn, and be the balm to our grief.'

Silence, and a sigh.

Galbatorix spread his hand over the tomb and continued. 'Of earth born and in fire forged, by magic blessed and by cool water soothed, then by a breeze in the night blown away to a land of silver and bright flowers. May the gods receive the soul of Morzan Drasborn of Dras-Leona. May he look down from the stars and may his wisdom and his strength embrace us. This we ask in the names of the lost gods, by the sacred light of the moon. From this day forth we shall speak his name only in friendship, and let his misdeeds and mistakes be forgotten. Now let us speak his name… _Morzan_.'

The others there repeated the name softly.

'Now let the tomb be sealed,' said Galbatorix.

Two burly men lifted it into place, and the King spoke the incantation. The rock silently melted together, sealing the gap and closing the tomb forever.

The mourners stood for a time, looking at the carving that marked Morzan's last resting-place. A boy and a dragon, standing together with their names carved on the stone beside them. Morzan and Idün. Two names that now belonged to the past.

The silence drew out for a time, as everyone busied themselves with their own thoughts until Galbatorix interrupted.

'Go now,' he said softly. 'There is nothing more to do here.'

They took their cue and shuffled away in dribs and drabs, forced to walk two abreast in the narrow space. Some glanced back at Galbatorix, who stayed by the tomb and silently watched them go, but none dared speak to him. Murtagh, walking among them, heard them talking once they had turned the corner and were out of earshot. He didn't understand most of it; the voices were all distant and echoing, far above his head. Adult voices, irrelevant to him.

'…my gods, did you see his face?'

'I didn't want to, myself.'

'I was watching him all the time. Nothing. Not a thing. I didn't expect anything much, but… nothing! Not a sign. You know they were best friends, don't you?'

'Nataliea, the King doesn't have any friends. He doesn't understand human feelings, he never has. He can't.'

Silence.

'Gods… what must that be like? To feel nothing. To just be so… empty?'

'I don't know, and I don't want to know. But like it or not he's our ruler, and he's not going anywhere.'

'I know. He outlived my mother, and my grandmother, and my great-grandmother as well. He'll outlive all of us.' There was an odd little laugh. 'We'll have him forever. This mad King of ours.'

The nursemaid loosened her grip on Murtagh's hand. He pulled away from her and she, caught up in listening to the conversation, didn't notice him wander off. He slipped out of the group without much trouble; they avoided him without really noticing he was there, and he walked back the way they had come. He didn't particularly mind when he realised he was alone. He didn't like people much. They were too loud, too smothering, and many of them hurt him. They would touch him, which made his back hurt, and they didn't seem to understand that he didn't like it. His back often hurt now. It kept him awake at night, and sometimes he would have dreams that scared him and make him cry. Dreams about a man who was his father, but not his father. A big, horrible monster of a man, with wide, mad eyes, shouting and hitting his mother in the face and making her cry. And the dream would always end in a burst of pain from his back. And there was always a second man, behind his father. One who never spoke. One who was tall and pale, standing in a shadow and just watching him with a pair of eyes like deep holes.

Murtagh walked back through the catacombs, clutching the toy dragon for comfort. There was light behind him, from the people leaving, but there was also light ahead, around the corner, and he made for that.

As he turned the corner he looked ahead and saw the lone figure standing next to the wall that had taken his father's body. He stopped there, watching it, not wanting it to see him.

Galbatorix was oblivious to his presence. He stood in the lantern-light, unmoving, staring at the carving on the wall. Murtagh, looking on, could hear him making a strange sound. He listened curiously. It sounded like crying. He had seen his mother do it, and other children, but he had never seen a grown man do it and it confused him now.

But Murtagh knew this man. This was the one everyone called "Sire". The one who had run away from him once, long ago, when his mother was still here. The one his father had picked up and shaken. The one who looked like the shadow-man from his nightmares. This was the King. The one everyone was frightened of. He could see how other people were scared of him. It showed in their faces, and their voices, when he was there.

Murtagh began to feel afraid as well. He looked back over his shoulder, but the light had gone and there was nothing behind him but darkness. He started to tremble slightly. He wanted someone to be there, to take him away from this place, but there was no-one there and he didn't dare make a sound in case the shadow-man heard him. So he stayed where he was, clutching the dragon to his chest, and watched in silence.

Galbatorix moved forward slightly and placed both hands on the stone, touching the carving. His shoulders were shaking, and as Murtagh watched he suddenly ripped the crown off his head and threw it aside. It landed with a clang, and as if that were a signal he suddenly began to sob – not quiet, restrained sobs such as he had been giving before, but great, gasping, uncontrolled, passionate cries, full of unspeakable grief. He stayed where he was for a moment and then fell hard to his knees and covered his face with his hands, sobbing as though his heart would break. And he was speaking, too, Murtagh realised.

'Morzan, no… no… please g- gods no… Morzan, forgive me, forgive me, please gods Morzan forgive me, I d…' he gave a loud cry that was almost a scream, and suddenly began to strike his head violently against the wall, over and over again. 'Please gods, kill me, please gods, please, please, please let me die, let me die, I want to die, I want to die, please gods let me die, just let me…' his head struck the wall with a horrible, dull thud, and he subsided and cried on.

It exhausted him eventually, and the sobs died down. Then he relaxed a little, and lay there as if he would never get up again. 'Please,' he whispered then, his voice broken and barely audible. 'Please, gods, please. Don't let me be the last. Don't make me be the last one. Bring another one to me, make another one come, I'll do anything, I swear, punish me but don't…' after that his voice ran out.

Murtagh started to back away, cold all over with fear and confusion. His foot scraped against the wall, and in the blink of an eye Galbatorix looked up and saw him. Murtagh stood still, suddenly pinned to the spot by those awful black eyes, but then he screamed and ran. He bolted away into the catacombs, his fear of the dark forgotten in his need to escape from the man he feared so much.

But he was too slow. Footsteps came up fast behind him, and then a strong, bony hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, stopping him dead. Murtagh screamed as he was lifted off the ground, legs dangling. He fought to get free, striking out at his captor. His fists made contact with the folds of a robe and the flesh beneath, but then he was restrained by an arm which pinned his own arms to his sides and prevented him from escaping.

Murtagh sobbed and wailed as he was carried off through the catacombs, the walls moving past in strange patterns of light and shadow as the lantern his captor held swung gently. Carvings of humans, elves and dragons loomed out of the darkness on both sides, their empty eyes seeming to watch him as he passed, and he could feel the shadow-man's heart beating and hear his breathing. But his boots made absolutely no sound on the floor.

Galbatorix paused to stuff the crown back into his pocket and strode on, restraining the screaming child. His face was dry now, and his mouth was set into a hard, bitter line.

'You – just – can't – stay put, can you?' he growled. 'What sort of behaviour is that, then? Wandering off gets you into trouble, understand? Stay with people. And shut the hell up.'

But Murtagh continued to wail, drowning him out.

Galbatorix stopped suddenly, by the opening to an empty tomb. He set the lantern down and put Murtagh down next to it, crouching and holding onto his shoulder to stop him from running away. Murtagh tried to pull free, but Galbatorix's fingers dug into his skin, threatening to hurt him if he moved.

'Now listen to me,' said Galbatorix. When Murtagh kept on crying, he slapped him sharply in the face, his gloved hand making a loud and unpleasant _thump_ when it connected with his cheek. Murtagh went quiet, trembling with fear, his face turning red.

Galbatorix pointed at him with his free hand, his face terrible in the half-light. 'Now listen to me,' he said again. 'You have to be strong. Look at me. _Look at me.'_

Murtagh did.

'Good. Now listen, Murtagh Morzanson, because I'll only say this once. You can't look to other people for strength, and you can't expect them to help you. Because they either can't or won't. If you let yourself be weak in front of them, they'll laugh at you and use you for their own purposes. Let them think you don't have a heart, if you have to, and that way at least they'll never be able to break it.' His grip tightened. 'Your father let you down. Your mother ran away and left you. You've been betrayed by both of them. I promised your father I would take care of you and I will, but you can't trust me either. Never trust anyone, Murtagh. Never. Not me, not your parents, not your friends. There is only one person you can trust, and that's you. Think for yourself. Act for yourself. And be strong for yourself. It's the only protection you'll ever have. Otherwise, you'll go in there.' He pointed at the dark hole of the open tomb, and turned Murtagh forcibly toward it. '_Look_ at it. Can you see it? See that? Do you want to go in there, Murtagh?'

Murtagh started to sob again. 'No!'

'Then get out of here.' Galbatorix let go of him and straightened up, holding the lantern.

Murtagh stood still, staring at him, appealing to him now for help.

Galbatorix stared back, cold-eyed and dispassionate. 'I won't help you,' he said. 'If you want to get out of here, find your own way. Go on.'

Murtagh started to tremble, but he didn't dare cry. 'I want to go back,' he whimpered.

Galbatorix pointed at the darkness behind him. 'Then go. Go or stay here forever.'

Very slowly, Murtagh turned to face the darkness. It seemed to stare back, cold and empty and smothering, like a great dark blanket waiting to cover him and never let him out. There was light behind him, and he could almost feel it pulling him back. He wanted to stay with it, where he could see the world, but… but when he turned back he saw the King still standing there and watching him, all cold and cruel and unfriendly.

Murtagh turned away again and took a step forward. He tried another. Still, nothing bad happened. He started to walk along the corridor, a little at a time, stopping occasionally to look back. But Galbatorix was always there behind him.

'Go,' he whispered, the echo of his voice running ahead of them both and away into the darkness.

Murtagh followed it, wanting to run but too frightened to, with the light behind and the dark ahead, waiting all the time for the moment when the light was completely gone and there was nothing but darkness behind and in front.

But it never did. The light stayed behind him, casting his shadow on the floor in front of him. He could see it, walking just ahead, all tall and thin, as if he were a grown man – a warrior, with a sword in his hand, unafraid of anything. It gave Murtagh strength, and courage. He followed his shadow and the darkness did not swallow him and the light did not leave him, and his fear began to go away.

And then, little by little, he began to see another light ahead of him. It was faint, but it was there, and the further he went the brighter it got.

It was a door. There were steps leading up to it; big, steep steps that looked like little mountains from here. But Murtagh was not afraid any more. He went to them and started to try and climb them. It was hard but he tried again, and again, until he managed to haul himself up onto the lowest one and stopped there to rest.

'Well done,' a voice said from behind him.

Murtagh turned and saw Galbatorix standing there, holding the lantern in one hand, and though his face was still and cold there was a hint of a smile in his eyes.

Murtagh said nothing. He turned away and tried to climb the next step, but it was worn and smooth and he slipped and fell backward with a cry of fright.

A strong hand caught him. Galbatorix lifted him gently and carried him up the steps, careful to move slowly and not jolt him.

'Well done,' he said again as they went. 'You see, you can do it. Because you're strong. Like your father. And you can always be strong if you try. You can be a warrior one day, just like him.'

The nursemaid was waiting outside the door to the crypt, looking pale and anxious.

'I think you forgot something,' said Galbatorix, putting Murtagh back into her arms.

'I sorry, Sire-,'

'Try and keep a closer eye on him in the future if it's not too much trouble,' Galbatorix said sourly. 'I would rather not be put to the trouble of finding a replacement for you.'

'Yes, Sire, I understand. It won't happen again. I won't trouble you any further now, Sire-,'

'Wait a moment, please,' said Galbatorix, holding up a hand to stop her from leaving.

'Yes, Sire?'

'I understand Morzan appointed me to be the boy's guardian in case anything happened to him,' said Galbatorix. 'So it won't be necessary to take him back to Gil'ead.'

'No, Sire, but we didn't think you would want the trouble-,'

'The welfare of my oldest friend's son is not something I would ever think of as an inconvenience,' Galbatorix interrupted. 'No, the boy will stay here. I have made arrangements. He will have an allowance from his father's wealth until he is a grown man, and I will provide anything else he needs. A set of rooms has been fitted out for his use, and I have hired extra help. When he is old enough he will have tutoring, and the master-at-arms will begin training him in swordplay.'

'Yes, Sire, understood.'

'I've been told he's ready to leave the infirmary,' Galbatorix went on. 'Ask the steward to show you to his new home, and get him settled in. If you need anything, just ask.'

'Yes, Sire,' said the nurse.

'After all…' Galbatorix looked at Murtagh. 'Nothing is too good for Lord Morzan's son.'

A short time later, Galbatorix met with the Lords Walden, Simeon and Dirke in the dining hall. They were still wearing their ceremonial outfits from the funeral, and looked apprehensive when they saw the King come in.

Galbatorix closed the door behind him and went to the table. 'Sorry for the delay, my Lords. I had things to attend to.'

'It's not a problem, Sire,' said Simeon. 'Are you sure-?'

Galbatorix held up a hand. '**_Atranosu waíse vardo fra eld hórnya_.' Magic glowed briefly in the air around him, and he nodded. 'Please continue.'**

**Lord Simeon had started when he saw the magic. 'What – may I ask what that was, Sire?'**

**'Just a spell. It should stop us from being spied on. You were saying, Lord Simeon?'**

**'Well,' Simeon pulled himself together. 'I merely wished to ask whether you would prefer to take some rest before we begin our discussion, Sire. I mean, considering…' **

**Galbatorix waved him into silence. 'I am well aware of the need to look after my health, Lord Simeon, and let me assure you that I intend to. I have no wish to be incapacitated again, particularly right now. In fact, that's one thing I intend to discuss today.'**

**'We are listening, Sire,' said Walden.**

**'Good. Now…' Galbatorix fixed them all with a stare. 'I understand that you three were responsible for bringing Lord Morzan here to force me to come out of my retreat, in spite of the fact that I had specifically ordered for you to keep the matter secret from him.'**

**There was an extremely apprehensive silence. **

**'I won't deny that, Sire,' Walden said carefully. 'But we believed that we were acting in your best interests, and those of the Empire.'**

**Galbatorix nodded. 'Yes, I understand that. And you were right to do what you did. I had been… I was in need of help, and sending Morzan to give it was the right decision.'**

**Their relief was almost palpable, but none of them said anything.**

**'I am aware that there has been a great deal of speculation over the reasons for my retreat,' Galbatorix continued. 'Some called it paranoia, others madness. My reasons are unimportant, but I can assure you that my mind is perfectly sound. Like you, I did what I believed was best. But I can promise you that it will not happen again.'**

**'We are… pleased to hear that, Sire,' said Lord Dirke.**

**Galbatorix smiled very slightly. 'I thought you would be. But here are the new arrangements.' He paused to make sure he had their full attention, and then went on, speaking in businesslike tones. 'I intend to pay more attention to my health in future, and will stay out of danger as much as possible. Therefore, I will no longer be leaving the castle for any reason until further notice. I will be reducing my workload and will take some days off – three days a week to begin with, but that may change.'**

**Lord Walden nodded. 'A wise course of action, I think, Sire. You exert yourself too much for the sake of the Empire.'**

**'Perhaps,' said Galbatorix. 'That is what I will be doing. Here is what you'll be doing.' He took a piece of paper from inside his robe, and put it on the table. 'I have written down instructions for making a certain potion which will help to ward off disease. I want large quantities of it made and brought to the castle so that I have a constant supply of it. See to it. But do so under terms of absolute secrecy. No-one is to know who the potion is for or what it does, or even where it goes. Is that understood?'**

**Walden took the paper. 'Yes, Sire. I will arrange it for you.'**

**'Good. And there are some new rules that I want obeyed. No-one is to come within five paces of me at any time, under any circumstances. Not even to give something to me. If you want to give me something, put it down on a table and move away from it. I'll begin attending to my haircuts and fingernails myself. That rule is absolute; it applies to everyone in the castle, including the healers. Understood?'**

**'Yes, Sire.'**

**'And also,' said Galbatorix, 'No-one is to come into my room while I'm in there. Not if it's an emergency, not even if it's on fire. I will keep the door locked at all times, and the corridor outside will be guarded night and day. Most of the time it will be permissable to knock on the door, but when I decide otherwise I'm to be left undisturbed no matter what the circumstances. And there's to be a few changes in the room itself as well.'**

'Should I write this down, Sire?' said Walden.

'No, it should be easy enough to remember,' said Galbatorix. 'I want that room stripped. The wall-hangings, the ornaments, the furniture – get rid of it. I want the bed removed and replaced with a hammock – a plain one will be sufficient – and the rest of the room is to be furnished like my old one. A wardrobe, a chest, a desk and a chair. Plain, solid and built to last.'

'But Sire, a little luxury-,'

'I am not an ornament that needs to be packed up in a velvet box,' Galbatorix said in icy tones. 'I don't need anything more than what I've asked for. However-,'

'Yes, Sire?'

'However, I _would_ like to have the fireplace expanded. And plenty of rugs on the floor. I don't want luxury, but a little warmth would be nice. Do you think you can do all that?'

'Yes, Sire,' said Walden. 'We'll see to it immediately.'

_Why?_

The question was hanging in the air, unspoken but nearly palpable. Galbatorix knew they were all aching to ask it. He didn't care.

'Now,' he said. 'On to more important things.'

'We've carried out your orders with regards to the Lady Selena, Sire,' said Walden. 'She will be found and brought back here as soon as possible.'

'Good. I want that woman brought to me the instant she's found. In the meantime… send a message to Dras-Leona. Specifically, to the Ra'zac. They are to be summoned back here to see me at once.'

'May I ask why, Sire?' said Lord Dirke. All three lords had looked very uncomfortable at the mention of the Ra'zac.

'The Ra'zac may be unpleasant creatures, but they're useful,' said Galbatorix. 'They know how to hunt people. They will hunt down the Varden for us. And I have another ally who could be useful now – Durza.'

The three lords shifted in their seats.

'Sire, you sent him away,' said Lord Walden. 'I was under the impression that you didn't want to see him again, Sire.'

'I can't say there is much affection between us,' said Galbatorix. 'But Durza is still bound to serve me. Put the word out that I want him to come back here. When he arrives, I will send him to treat with the urgals. It's time for them to repay me for the land I gave them.'

'Urgals, Sire?'

'They know how to fight,' said Galbatorix. 'They hate the elves almost as much as I do. After all… don't let's forget what race it was that drove them out of their homes and massacred them by the thousands back in the time of the old riders. They allied with me when I rebelled against the old order, and I kept my promise to them – they owe me their allegiance. And they make far better soldiers than humans do. See to it.'

'Yes, Sire. And what of the villages that are rebelling?'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'They've had their chance. It's time for us to prepare for a fight. Tell the Imperial commanders to begin recruiting more soldiers. I want the Empire's men sent out to those villages in force, as soon as possible.'

'To bring them back under control, Sire?' said Walden.

Galbatorix's eyes were as cold as death. 'Yes, Lord Walden. By any means necessary.'


	28. The Prophecy

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Prophecy

Selena knew she was pregnant by the time she reached Teirm. She had begun to feel the change in her body some way into the journey, and though it was only her second pregnancy her instincts quickly told her what it meant.

Jeod and Hanh had helped her make her escape from Urû'baen – though they had to go to Gil'ead to meet up with Brom, they first escorted her to the home of some traders living in the city who agreed to take her with them to Teirm. They gave her directions to a hideout in Teirm where they had friends who could shelter her, and after that they left her. The traders were pleasant enough to her. It was clear that none of them really knew who she was, and in fact every single one of them insisted that she keep it to herself.

'If we don't know, we can't tell anyone else,' one of them explained.

She had to cut her hair short and use a special lotion that turned it from blonde to a kind of dirty brown, and the traders politely relieved her of her fine clothes and supplied her with a plain dress to wear. But she insisted on keeping her old gown and pearl-encrusted hairnet, packed up in a box on the cart that would take her to Teirm. If she had to she could sell it, and anyway, it would be her only reminder of the time when she had been a Lady. Now, she knew, she was nothing.

The journey to Teirm took two months. Selena sat in the little covered cart, listening to the dull thudding of the horses' hooves on the road, and did her best to read a book. She had learned to read after a fashion during her time in the castle at Gil'ead, and she liked being able to decipher words and their meanings. It helped her to feel intelligent and educated, more like a proper Lady than an illiterate peasant who didn't know anything.

And it helped take her mind off things as well.

But, try as she might, she could not relax, could not feel safe, not for a moment. Her head was full of visions of Murtagh. Murtagh, her tiny son, still living back in Urû'baen, caught up in the grip of the King's murderous insanity. And she was leaving him behind. She was running away and abandoning him to who knew what fate. And even if the King was dead, Morzan wasn't. He would come back to Urû'baen sooner or later. He would come looking for his son. Selena thought of his huge, hard hands holding him in their crushing grip, and wanted to jump down off the cart and run back the way she had come, back to Urû'baen as fast as she could go. But though her fear for Murtagh was great her fear for herself was greater, and she could not make herself do it.

_I'm a coward,_ she thought, over and over again. _I'm a coward._

But Murtagh was not the only one she feared for. There was also Brom. She could not get him out of her head. Waking and sleeping, his face was embedded in her mind. She thought about him constantly – his bright blue eyes, like distilled pieces of a summer sky, the rough warmth of his voice, the feeling of his thin body against hers, his gentle hands touching her and making her feel safe. She wanted him to be there with her, to sit beside her and hold her and tell her she was safe.

She would have nightmares, from time to time. Dreams where she saw him in a cell, weighed down with chains, an expression of agony and terror on his face. When she was awake she would imagine it. What if he had been caught?

She had never found out if his quest had been successful. She had simply seen him vanish into the secret passage, and that was the last she had seen or heard of him. And she had not heard the bells ring out to signal the death of the King. There had been no word of what had happened. All she knew was what everyone knew – that the night Brom had gone into the castle the King's dragon had gone insane and torn down half of the dragon roost, and that Morzan had left in a great hurry. She had seen Shruikan standing in the rubble at the top of the roost, where the King's bedroom had been, but she had no way of knowing what was going on in his head. Had he gone mad because he had felt the death of the King? If Galbatorix had been killed, would Shruikan have died too? She didn't know. But surely if the King was dead it would have got out by now.

And if he wasn't dead, then Brom had failed. And if he had failed then he must have been caught. And if he had been caught…

Selena's mind swam with visions, each one more terrible than the last. Brom in the dungeons, suffering the agony of whips and branding irons. Brom, manacled and confronted by the terrible visage of the King, screaming as his mind was broken into and his secrets forcibly dragged out of him. Brom at the gallows, suffering the traitor's death. Her Brom, dying.

She cried for most of the journey. She couldn't help herself. But it was more than just worry and guilt, she realised in the end. Something was changing inside her.

Halfway through the second month, she realised that the full moon had long since come and gone but she had not bled. The moon turned again, gradually swelling toward a full circle once more, and still there was no sign. And she had begun to feel strange. She slept longer and ate more, and occasionally she felt dizzy and light-headed.

Little by little, as they passed through the mountains of the Spine and Teirm drew ever closer, she realised that her night with Brom had given her what she had wanted. She was pregnant and the child was his. And even though a baby would be nothing but trouble and a hindrance to her while she was a fugitive, the knowledge gave her the first true happiness she had felt in a very long time. She didn't tell any of her travelling companions, but she began to smile again for the first time in weeks, and when they were on the road she would sing softly to herself – old songs that she had learned from her mother years ago, when she was a girl still in love with life.

When they arrived in Teirm two weeks later and her bleeding still had not begun, she knew for certain that it was real. _I'll look after it,_ she promised herself as the cart rattled into the city. _I'll care for our child, Brom, I swear. I'll teach it that its father was a brave man. I will, I will._

The cart finally stopped at a nondescript house in the merchant's quarter, and there her companions bade her disembark and go inside. She obeyed, and the cart's driver took her upstairs and into a small bedroom.

'You can stay here until tonight,' he told her. 'Make yourself comfortable, get some sleep. We'll bring you something to eat.'

Selena sat down on the bed. 'What happens next?'

'Tonight we'll take you out of here to join your friends,' said the man. 'I'm going to go and make contact with them – they'll tell me where to take you. Don't worry; we'll sort it all out.'

Selena nodded and lay down. 'I understand.'

She spent the rest of the day in her room, and was brought food at sunset. It was plain but plentiful, and she ate all of it. After all, she had to feed two people now. A short time after that she slept, more tired out from the journey than she had realised.

She was woken again in the dead of night by her host, who beckoned to her and whispered that she should get dressed. She obeyed, and picked up the little bundle of possessions she had brought with her before she left the house.

It was past midnight, and the city was utterly still and silent when they left the house. Selena followed her guide through the deserted streets, shivering slightly in the cold air. He took her to a spot right by the city wall, to a tiny alley between two old houses. There was a group of people waiting for them there, their faces covered. The man spoke a password to them, and they nodded silently and came forward to take charge of Selena. The man turned and left without a word to her, and she only had time to look back briefly at him before the little group of rebels surrounded her and hustled her away from the alley. She went with them without protest, saying nothing, and they too remained silent. They hurried through the streets, guided only by the light of the full moon, pausing occasionally to lie low in a side-street before they moved on.

The journey seemed to take hours, but it eventually ended at the back door of a house. One of the rebels knocked on it and was let in after a quick, whispered exchange. Selena was directed in after him, and found herself in a warm, well-lit room with a fire burning in the grate. There were several people already there, all staring at her.

Selena stood awkwardly, saying nothing, while the rest of her guides entered. They locked and barred the door behind them, and the instant that was done the tension drained out of the atmosphere.

The apparent leader of the little group came forward, pulling off his hood and the wrappings that hid his face. He proved to be a middle-aged man, not particularly striking in appearance, but his look toward Selena was one of overwhelming respect – almost awe.

'Are you the Lady Selena?' he asked her.

Selena nodded silently.

His reaction took her completely by surprise. The moment she had confirmed it he came forward, quite suddenly, and hugged her. He kissed her on both cheeks and then let go of her and bowed. 'My Lady, it is an honour, a great honour.'

Selena stared at him, utterly shocked. All around him his fellows uncovered their faces and bowed low to her, murmuring; 'My Lady.'

Selena finally found her voice. 'I don't… please, what's going on? You don't have to bow to me, I'm not a…' she paused. 'I'm not a real Lady. Honestly, I'm not. I never married Lord Morzan, I'm just a peasant-,'

'No, my Lady!' said the man, beaming. 'We don't care about that one bit. We don't respect you because of some title, not at all. No… I am honoured – more honoured than I can ever say – to have you here in my home.'

'You are?' Selena said blankly.

'Yes.' The man came forward, his demeanour full of respect. 'You are a hero, Lady Selena, one worthy of the greatest legends. Your name will go down in history.'

Realisation dawned. 'You mean because…' she broke off suddenly, glancing over her shoulder.

'It's all right,' said the man. 'No-one is watching. Yes, my Lady. We know what you did. What you helped to do.'

Selena shook her head. 'I did nothing. Brom was the true hero, not me.'

'Ah yes,' said the man. 'But without you he could not have done it.'

She looked up sharply. 'What do you mean?'

The man frowned. 'I don't understand. Surely you know already, my Lady.'

'No. I helped Brom get into the castle, but…' Selena moved closer. 'Please,' she said urgently. 'Do you know what happened after that? Did he get out? Is he safe? Please, I have to know.'

Everyone there looked shocked.

'Dear gods, my Lady… you mean to say you don't know?' said the man. 'You don't know what happened?'

'No, I don't. Did he-?'

'The King is dead,' said the man. 'Lord Brom and the Princess Arya broke into his bedchamber and stabbed him through his black heart. The riders are avenged, and soon the Empire will begin to crumble. We have won the struggle against evil, and it's all thanks to you.'

Joy and relief rose in Selena's heart. 'He's dead? He's really dead? And Brom's all right?'

'Yes, my Lady. Brom and Arya both escaped from the castle and fled to Du Weldenvarden. They are safe. And the egg you freed from the King's clutches has gone to our stronghold. Soon it will hatch, and a new rider will come – a rider who can lead us back to the glory of the past and undo the King's evil forever.'

'But I don't understand,' said Selena. 'Why haven't I heard anything? If the King is dead, why is everyone so calm?'

'The Empire's officials have suppressed the news,' said the man. 'They are pretending nothing has happened. But the Varden knows the truth. Soon the Empire will be in disarray, and then we can rise and rally the people to break their chains. Already people in villages and towns all over the country are leaving their homes and travelling to our stronghold to give their support.'

Selena's heart sank. 'You mean there'll be war?'

'Undoubtedly, my Lady. But a war that we shall win. Once, when there were riders working for the Empire, the struggle was too unequal for us to be certain of victory. But now they are gone-,'

'Wait,' said Selena. 'What about Morzan? He left Urû'baen, I saw him go.'

'Oh yes,' said the man. 'He went in pursuit of Lord Brom. They met at Gil'ead.'

'And-?'

'Brom killed him,' said the man. 'They fought in single combat, and Morzan was killed. As far as I know, Brom escaped without any injuries.'

For some reason, the news struck a kind of dull pain into Selena. Morzan, dead. And Brom…

'Where is Brom now?' she asked. 'He said he would meet me in Teirm-,'

'Ah yes,' said the man. 'I've been given a message from him. He is not coming to Teirm. He is going to Carvahall to lie low for a time – if you want to see him again you must meet him there.'

'Then I'll go back there,' Selena said immediately.

The man nodded. 'We have transport for you. You will depart tomorrow night. In the meantime, you can stay here with us. You'll be safe.'

Selena nodded. 'How long will it take me to get to Carvahall?'

'Not too long. Three months at the most.'

That was longer than she had thought, but not too long. The baby wouldn't come until well after she had reached Carvahall. And Brom would be there. She could see him again, and tell him what had happened, and he would be there to see his child be born. They could raise it together. Perhaps they could even marry.

Selena smiled. It was all over. The danger was past. Galbatorix and Morzan were dead, Brom was alive, the country was free – and she was too.

Selena was too tired from her journey to spend much more time with the little group of rebels that night. They still wanted to talk to her and thank her for what she had done, but her new host – who had introduced himself as Ruel – was quick to intervene.

'Now, then,' he said, cutting across the chatter, 'Don't smother her, she's had a long journey. My Lady, there's a room upstairs where you can rest.'

Selena stifled a yawn. 'Thankyou, Ruel. I would like that.'

Ruel nodded. 'Come with my, my Lady.'

She followed him up a flight of stairs, and he opened a door and ushered her into a small bedroom, saying; 'Here. It's all yours, my Lady.'

Selena took the lantern he offered her, and took in the room. It was sparsely furnished – nothing but a pair of cupboards and…

She went cold. 'What's _that?'_

Ruel looked nonplussed. 'It's just a hammock, my Lady. I hope it's not too uncomfortable, but the bed we used to have in here wore out and we haven't replaced it yet.'

Selena pulled herself together. It was just a hammock. 'I'm sure it'll be fine, thankyou.'

Ruel smiled and nodded. 'That's good to hear, my Lady.'

'You don't have to call me that.'

Ruel pretended not to hear her. 'I'll leave you now. Sleep well, my Lady.'

Once he had gone and the door had closed behind him, Selena took off her shoes and put the lantern down on the floor beside the hammock. She sat down carefully on it, half expecting the ropes holding it up to break as it took her weight, but they only creaked gently. She managed to climb into it – tensing when it moved under her – and lay back. It was surprisingly comfortable – the fabric shaped itself to accommodate her, and the whole thing swung gently from side to side, like a cradle.

An image of Murtagh flashed across her brain again, and she shuddered and quickly pulled the blankets over her. The lantern was too far away to reach, so she left it burning and tried to relax. But the hammock was strange and unfamiliar – the shape of it, the way it moved every time she did, the lack of solidity… there was no mattress or board beneath her, to make her feel like she was on solid ground – only a layer of cloth and empty air beneath that. It made her feel like she could fall at any moment. She realised very quickly that she would not sleep that night.

When she finally did fall asleep, it was the kind of disturbed half-sleep that didn't feel like true sleep at all. It was full of restless dreams.

Dreams of Morzan. She saw him in his room at Gil'ead, hunched at the table. He was drunk and mumbling to himself in Murtagh's voice, and as she watched he pulled her to him and started to tear at her clothes. She could smell the wine on his breath and see his red-rimmed eyes, alight with misery and desperate lust, and when she tried to pull away he hit her. Then she dreamed of Brom. He smiled at her and held out the blue dragon's egg for her. She took it, and it started to shake. It broke open and there was a child inside. Her child, crying for her. She held him close, whispering to him, but then the shadows moved and the King was there. He stepped forward and snatched the child from her. She started forward, trying to take it back, but he was out of her reach, his black eyes full of hate. A darkness spread from his fingertips and out over the child's body, and it began to scream and convulse and she saw that it was Murtagh, her Murtagh, caught up in the grip of that black magic, blood soaking into his tunic, her son, dying in front of her.

Selena's face twitched in her sleep. 'No,' she mumbled. 'No…'

But the child was dead, and crumbled to dust in Galbatorix's hands, pouring through his long fingers and blowing away in the wind. He watched it and then laughed and came forward, grabbing her by the neck. He pulled her to him and began to kiss her, his lips cold and bitter-tasting against hers. His robe took on a life of its own and wrapped itself around her suddenly naked body, pressing her against him, harder and harder, as if their two forms could melt together and become one. A madness gripped her and she began to kiss him back, and suddenly they were together, passionately together, kissing and caressing each other until his coldness became a heat a hundred times stronger than fire and she knew he wanted her, yes he did, he wanted her and she wanted him, she did…

She woke up shivering. Early-morning sunlight was coming in through the window, and the blankets had fallen off onto the floor. She sat up, groping for them, the dream still vivid in her mind. The lantern had burned itself out.

Selena managed to pull the blankets back over herself and lay down again. Her heart was pounding, she realised.

Disgust suddenly gripped her as she remembered the dream. It had been so real, and so…

Thrilling. She tried to push the word out of her mind, but it was too late. She thought of the King, of his black eyes and curly hair and his strange, angular face. She remembered his deep, dark voice, full of calm authority. She thought of the awkward kindness he had shown toward Murtagh. And she remembered the awful dismissal in his face when he had spurned her and sent her away. She knew, then, even as she tried desperately to close her mind to it, that she had wanted him more than she had admitted to herself so far. From the first moment she had seen him she had been seized by a terrible fascination and dark lust toward him, one that had made her forget her danger and try and entice him, in defiance of all common sense and propriety.

_No_, she thought, almost shouting the word inside her head. No. She loved Brom. _He_ was the man she wanted, the one who was right for her. How could she even contemplate feeling anything but fear and hatred toward the King, when she knew what he was and what he had done?

Selena concentrated on an image of Brom instead, and felt herself start to calm down. Her sweet Brom. Her hero and her saviour, the father of her child. _He's the one,_ she told herself firmly. _The one you were looking for. _She smiled softly, filling her mind with the memory of his blue eyes and gentle voice. _My Brom. _

Her guilt and confusion slowly went away, but she realised she wasn't going to get back to sleep. She climbed out of the hammock – which tipped and nearly dumped her onto the floor – and hastily put on her cloak and shoes. That helped warm her up a little. Someone had brought up the little bundle of possessions she'd brought with her from Urû'baen, and she opened it and looked through the contents. There wasn't much there – her old gown and hairnet, a few pieces of jewellery and a bag of gold. She took that out and put it in her pocket, and then went downstairs.

The fire was lit in the main room, and a pot of what smelled like porridge was heating over it. The people who had been there last night had all left, but Ruel and his wife were sitting at the table, talking quietly.

'Good morning, my Lady,' said Ruel, standing up. 'How did you sleep?'

'Not too badly, thankyou,' said Selena. 'May I sit down?'

'Oh, of course. We are at your service, my Lady.'

Ruel pulled out a chair for her and Selena sat down, feeling quite embarrassed.

'Now,' said Ruel's wife, also getting up. 'Would you care for some breakfast, my Lady?'

Selena nodded. 'Yes, thankyou… I'm sorry, but I don't think I know your name.'

'I'm Rose, my Lady,' said the woman, going to a cupboard and fetching some bowls and spoons. She filled three bowls with porridge and put them down on the table. There was a pot of honey there, and she pushed it toward Selena, saying; 'Here, help yourself, my Lady.'

Selena stirred some honey into the porridge and ate. It was surprisingly good, with nuts and dried fruit stirred into it, and she ate the lot without any prompting and readily accepted a second helping.

'Do you like it, my Lady?' Rose enquired.

'Yes,' said Selena. 'It's very good. Thankyou.'

Rose beamed. 'Not a problem at all, my Lady.'

Selena looked at Ruel. 'When am I going to leave?'

'Tonight, my Lady,' said Ruel. 'Late. There are guards inspecting everyone who leaves the city – they will still be there at night, but they won't be paying as much attention. You should be able to slip past them without being noticed.'

Selena's heart sank. 'What do I do until then?'

'Whatever you please, my Lady,' said Ruel. 'My house is yours.'

'Well then,' Selena said firmly, 'In that case, I'm going to go out and buy some new dresses. I've been wearing this one since I left Urû'baen.'

Ruel looked nervous. 'That might not be a good idea, my Lady-,'

Rose put a hand on his arm. 'Now then, Ruel, I don't see why we should force her to stay indoors. She's changed her appearance enough to avoid being recognised, and as long as she stays away from anyone who might know her…'

'How many people here know you, my Lady?' said Ruel.

Selena shook her head. 'No-one, really. I've only been here once before, and that was more than a year ago. I only stayed a few days.'

'So you don't think anyone in the city would recognise you?'

'No,' said Selena. 'Anyway,' she added confidently, 'Why would they be looking for me? No-one knows I had anything to do with what happened.'

'Are you sure, my Lady?' said Rose. 'Can I ask how you did it?'

Selena suddenly felt proud of herself, for the first time since her flight from Urû'baen. 'I met Brom in the city,' she said. 'We talked, and I swore to help him in the ancient language. I learned how from Morzan. He told me he needed to get into the castle, and asked me to find a way to let him in, and-,'

The two of them listened intently as she related the story of her actions. She explained briefly about the magical barriers and how she had managed to get past them with Idün's unwitting help, her theft of the egg, the secret passage and how she had stolen back into the city and guided her Brom into the castle to carry out his all-important mission.

'And after that,' she finished, 'Two of his friends helped me get out of the city and come here.'

Ruel was silent for a few moments, and then let out a long, awestruck sigh. 'My Lady… that was astonishing.'

Selena smiled shyly. 'I was doing what I had to for the good of the people,' she said, remembering Brom's words.

'Your courage is an inspiration, my Lady,' said Rose. 'What you have done…'

'It was a blow struck for freedom,' Ruel said simply.

'There's one thing I want to know, my Lady,' said Rose. 'If you don't mind my asking.'

Selena nodded. 'Ask whatever you want.'

'You met the King,' said Rose. 'Face to face. I can't help but wonder… what was he like, my Lady? Did he look as… what did he look like, my Lady?'

All of Selena's happiness left her. 'I don't… he was handsome,' she said suddenly.

'But wasn't he very old, my Lady?' said Rose.

Selena shook her head. 'No. He wasn't old. I mean… he didn't look old. He looked young. I mean… he looked young, but he was old.'

'I don't understand, my Lady. What are you trying to say?'

'I mean…' Selena tried to think. 'He wasn't grey or wrinkled. He looked young. But if you looked at his face, you could tell…'

'Magic,' Ruel muttered. 'Dark magic. They say he never aged like his friends did.'

_Half-breed,_ thought Selena. 'He was evil,' she said in a rush. 'Evil,' she said again, trying to make herself believe it. But he _had_ been evil. He'd tortured Murtagh, he'd…

'Yes, my Lady, and the world is a brighter place for having lost him,' said Ruel.

Selena stood up. 'I should go now,' she said. 'There will be fewer people out this early.'

Ruel nodded. 'A sensible idea. Try your best to avoid the city guard. Just to be on the safe side. And if you get lost, go to the statue of the dragon by the West wall – I'll come and find you there if you don't come back.'

'I will,' said Selena.

Ruel showed her out of the house, and she paused to look closely at the area so she would be able to remember what it looked like before she bade him farewell and set out into the city. It was even earlier than she had thought – only an hour or so after dawn – but there were plenty of people up and about already. Stalls were already open and trading in the market district, and shops had opened their doors. It made her think of Carvahall, where the farmers would rise at dawn to begin their day's work, and gave Selena an unexpected pang of homesickness. Well, she would soon be back there, she reminded herself, and set out to begin her shopping trip.

Half an hour or so of searching eventually located a tailor's shop, and she went inside and purchased a pair of new dresses. They were plain but well-made and warm, and she found a secluded alley and put one of them on. That made her feel more respectable. She still had plenty of money left and didn't want to go back so quickly, so she began to explore the rest of the market district at her leisure, enjoying the solitude and the peaceful anonymity. She wasn't particularly worried that anyone would recognise her – how could they? She was just another woman out for a day's shopping, and everyone else was too caught up in their own affairs to pay any attention to her.

Full of confidence, she wandered into another shop and bought a new cloak for her brother, Garrow. She thought of how surprised he would be to see her, and smiled to herself as she took the folded garment from the shopkeeper and put it in her bag. She'd left Carvahall semi-secretly, without telling anyone exactly where she was going or why – not even her brother. She had merely told him that she planned to get married and settle down elsewhere, and had promised to return some day and visit him.

She also bought a new pair of shoes and a brooch, and a pair of combs, and then, filled full of warm anticipation, a tiny tunic and a pair of soft cloth shoes for her baby to wear. She was just beginning to wonder if she should look for some toys as well when she happened to pass a large wooden billboard that had been posted on a street corner. It was covered in slips of paper with announcements, news and gossip written on them. As she walked past it, a large poster caught her eye and she turned back to look at it.

Her blood turned to ice.

_WANTED: Selena Violetsdaughter, mistress to the late Lord Morzan of Gil'ead, also known as the Lady Selena. The Lady Selena is wanted in connection with an attempt on the King's life and the theft of an extremely valuable item from the Imperial treasury. If found, she is to be escorted to the nearest government official immediately. A reward of one hundred gold pieces is offered._

There was a drawing of her own face beneath it. And, under that: _BY ORDER OF KING GALBATORIX TARANISÄII THE FIRST._

Selena's heart started to pound. She glanced around quickly, half expecting to see dozens of people staring at her. No-one was looking in her direction, but she began to feel sick with fear. She hurried away, forcing herself not to run, weighed down by her purchases.

Fierce, despairing anger started to beat at her, breaking through the fear. How could she have been so stupid? How could she not have realised that they would have pictures of her pinned up for people to see? How could she have possibly thought that her disappearance from the castle at Urû'baen would go unnoticed? How…?

Panicking, Selena hid in an alley and tried to think. Ruel's house was several blocks away by now. She would have to go back through the market district to get to it, and hundreds of people would see her.

She breathed deeply. Hundreds of people had already seen her, and none of them had recognised her. Perhaps her changed hair was enough to disguise her.

'You can do this,' she muttered aloud. 'You can do it.'

She'd done it before, hadn't she? She'd escaped from the castle, hadn't she? She'd snuck into the King's bedroom without waking him and escaped unseen and unscathed. She could get through a marketplace.

Feeling a little calmer, Selena left the alley and walked back the way she'd come, weaving through the crowd and doing her best not to look anyone in the face. She got back as far as the tailor's shop without incident, and some of her fear died down. It was going to be all right. She was going to make it.

But then, as she turned a corner, she saw something that made her freeze. A pair of city guards, making their way through the crowd straight toward her. Selena turned and almost ran back around the corner. Without even thinking, she darted into the nearest shop to hide and watched through the window as the guards walked past. It seemed to take them forever, and she gripped the bag in her hand until her knuckles turned white, but then they were gone and she heaved a deep sigh. Safe.

'Hello,' said a voice.

Selena turned sharply. 'What?'

The owner of the shop was sitting at a table in the middle of the room, giving her a quizzical look. She looked fairly young and had a mass of curly brown hair, and wore a bizarre assortment of beads and bracelets.

Selena relaxed. 'Sorry. You surprised me.'

The woman grinned. 'I'm a very surprising person. Welcome to my shop.'

Selena looked around. The shop was stuffed full of herbs, filling the air with their sharp, mingled scents. A weird collection of objects hung on threads from the ceiling, and there was a very large, tawny orange cat asleep in a corner.

'Is there anything I can help you with?' the owner enquired.

'Er… yes,' said Selena. 'I mean, I'm not sure. What do you sell here?'

The woman gave her another quizzical look. 'Herbs, mostly. I make potions, and I'm a healer, of sorts. And I tell fortunes sometimes too. Sit down, if you like. I'm Angela, by the way.'

'Er, no,' said Selena. 'I think I should go.'

'It's all right!' said Angela. 'I won't bite! You look as if you need a calming draught.'

Selena paused. 'Actually… do you have anything that's good for birthing?'

'I certainly do,' said Angela. 'What sort of thing do you want? I've got some potions that are good for keeping an unborn baby in good health, and others to ease the birth and rejuvenate a new mother's strength afterwards. Expecting, are you?'

Selena started to relax. 'Yes, I am.'

Angela smiled and started to rummage through the shelves. 'Congratulations. How far along are you?'

'A few months,' said Selena. 'I've – this is my second.'

'Ah,' said Angela, turning around and offering her a bottle of dark liquid. 'Having children is a wonderful thing, isn't it? Sometimes I wish I could have been a mother, but unfortunately the opportunity passed me by. Here you go. That'll be two gold pieces, and I'll let you have this one here for three.'

Selena handed over the money and put the potions in her pockets. 'Which one is which?'

'The dark one is the health draught,' said Angela. 'And the yellowy one is for the birth. D'you think you can remember that? I can write it down for you if you want.'

'Black for the pregnancy, yellow for the birth,' Selena recited. 'I think I can remember that.'

'Good, good,' said Angela. 'Well, good luck. And by the way…'

'Yes?' said Selena.

'And by the way, I'd advise you to avoid too much stress,' said Angela. 'Running around the place isn't good for you when you're pregnant.'

'Yes, I know,' Selena said stiffly.

'Well then, I expect you'll be wanting to run off again now,' said Angela. 'Before you're late.'

'I'm sorry?' said Selena.

Angela raised an eyebrow. 'Well, you came in here in something of a rush. I took that to mean you were in a hurry to be somewhere.'

'Oh,' said Selena. 'Well, I… yes, I'd better go.'

'Or,' said Angela. 'Perhaps you didn't want someone to see you.'

'That's my business,' said Selena, turning to leave. 'Goodbye.'

'Goodbye, Lady Selena,' said Angela.

Selena stopped sharply. 'What did you call me?'

Angela smiled knowingly. 'So you really are her. I thought so.'

Selena felt as if she had just been punched in the stomach. She turned back to face the herbalist. 'How do you know that name?'

Angela came closer. 'Close the door,' she said. 'Don't worry, I'm a friend.'

Selena obeyed, glancing out the window as she did so. There was no-one out there. 'Are you one of the Varden?' she almost whispered.

Angela shrugged. 'I suppose I am, in a way. I'm certainly no friend of the King's. Please, sit down.' As she spoke, she reached past Selena and locked the door.

Very slowly, Selena went to the table and sat, dropping her bag on the floor. 'What's going on?' she demanded, now very frightened indeed. 'Who told you-?'

Angela sat down opposite her. 'Calm down,' she advised. 'I told you it wasn't good for your child. Now listen. I'm not a danger to you. In fact, I'm honoured to meet you.'

Selena glanced toward the door. 'I just want to go.'

'You can,' said Angela. 'I just wanted to make sure we weren't disturbed. There's something I wanted to tell you… my Lady.'

'I'm _not_ a Lady,' Selena snapped.

Angela shrugged. 'It doesn't make any difference to me. Now listen. I know about you. I know about Brom. I scryed your future, Selena, and I saw that there was something I had to tell you.'

Selena leaned closer. 'What is it?'

'You must call him Eragon,' said Angela.

Selena stared at her. 'What?'

'Your child,' said Angela. 'Brom's son. You must call him Eragon. It's a name of power, and destiny, and one day…'

'"Eragon",' said Selena. 'It sounds… strange. What does it mean?'

'It was the name of the first of the dragon riders,' said Angela. 'An elvish name. Names are powerful things, in magic.' She sighed, and her voice took on a strange, distant tone, as if she was suddenly far away. 'The shadow of the dragon lies over both of your sons, Selena,' she intoned. 'It is the power that will control their destinies. They will help to shape the future of this land, each in their own way. But beware, Selena.'

'Beware of what?' said Selena.

'Beware,' Angela said again, urgently. 'There is danger for you – great danger. You must not go back to Urû'baen. Not ever, not for anything.'

'But Murtagh-,'

'His future is out of your hands now,' said Angela. 'There is nothing you can do for him. I have scryed his future, and the King's power is on him and will not let him go.'

'But the King is dead,' said Selena. 'Brom killed him.'

'Yes…' Angela sighed. 'I met the King once, a very long time ago.'

'You did?' said Selena. 'When? How?'

'I've lived in this city for a very long time,' said Angela. 'Longer than you've been alive. Since before the glory days of the old order of dragon riders.'

'What? But-,'

'And,' Angela interrupted, 'And… I remember one day, more than a hundred years ago, a boy came into my shop. He was only fifteen or so at the time, but the moment I saw him I had… I sensed something terrible around him. It was strange. He didn't look dangerous, not at all. He was tall and a bit skinny – I remember his hair was very neat. It was curly, and jet black. Like his eyes. Yes… I remember them very clearly.'

'Galbatorix,' Selena breathed.

'Yes. Or Arren Cardockson, as he called himself back then. He wandered in here and I offered to tell him his fortune. I cast the bones and I saw…' Angela paused, and shuddered. 'I saw a future so dark and so awful that for many years I refused to believe that it could ever come to pass. I never told him most of what I saw, but I warned him that there was a shadow hanging over him, and that it would be the force that would guide his life. And I told him that…'

'Told him what?' said Selena.

Angela looked up. 'I told him that one day he would be the most hated man in Alagaësia. He was angry, of course, and left in a hurry, but… I stayed here and I saw it come to pass. Everything I had seen in his future. I saw that boy turn into the monster that destroyed the old riders, one by one, and I saw him rise to become our King. And I think… I think that he saw that I was right, in the end. I think he knew what he had become, deep down inside. I think he knew.'

'But he's dead now,' Selena said quietly. 'It's over.'

'Yes…' Angela rubbed her forehead. 'I tried to scry more of his future. The bones only reveal certain things, certain signs, certain warnings. I tried to scry a vision of what would happen to him, but I saw nothing but darkness and a terrible void. His future was hidden from me, though I tried again and again. He is… was not human.'

'No,' said Selena. 'I know. He was a half-breed. He was a dark elf.'

'So he was,' said Angela. 'And I don't know why I didn't see it in him the first time we met. Only a dark elf has black eyes – no human I know of does. The King's powers – the things he could do that no other rider ever could – they were all dark elvish. You know they called him the Shadow That Walks. Moving in shadows, making yourself invisible in the dark – that's a dark elvish art. A dark elf, you see… a dark elf's soul is a shadow. Their minds, their hearts – all dark. You could see that darkness in their eyes, hear it in their voices. His name was dark elvish, you know. "Galbatorix" – "great King". You cannot scry a dark elf, and no race ever had psychic powers as strong as theirs. That is why the King could break into any mind he chose – no-one was strong enough to resist him. Not even other riders.'

Selena thought of Galbatorix's black eyes. 'He was evil,' she said.

Angela looked her in the face. 'Was he?' she asked in a strange voice.

'Yes,' said Selena, more forcefully than she needed to. 'He was evil, and I'm glad he's dead.'

Angela nodded. 'And I think everyone else in the Empire will agree with you. Now…' she stood up abruptly and crossed to the door. 'I've kept you long enough. I'm sorry, my Lady, but I got a little carried away.' She opened the door and peered out. 'There's no-one around. You can go now.'

Selena got up and retrieved her shopping from the floor, still bewildered by everything she had just been told. 'Angela-,'

Angela stood aside and ushered her out through the door. 'Go,' she said. 'And good luck, Selena. And remember what I told you.'

Selena stood in the doorway and looked back at her. 'Eragon,' she said softly. 'I'll call him Eragon.'


	29. Tyrant

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Tyrant

'Sire? Sire?'

No response.

Lord Walden leaned forward over the table and tried again. 'Sire? Can you hear me?'

Galbatorix didn't look up. He was sitting at the head of the table, in the large carved chair that had been made just for him. There was a plate of food in front of him, but he wasn't touching it. His forehead was resting on his hand and he was staring at the tabletop with a faraway expression. It had been a week since Morzan's funeral, and he had taken to doing this a lot recently.

Walden sighed. He hated doing this, but it was all he could think of. 'Sire?' he said yet again, raising his voice.

Galbatorix glanced up. 'What?' he said irritably.

Walden sat back. 'I'm sorry, Sire, I just wanted-,'

Galbatorix appeared to rouse himself. He removed his elbow from the table and started to eat rather half-heartedly, not saying anything.

'Sire,' Walden ventured. 'I'm sorry, but wanted to ask you if perhaps today you could make a brief appearance outside the castle.'

'What's the hurry?' said Galbatorix, without looking up.

'Sire, it's time they saw proof that you're alive,' said Walden. 'The people refuse to believe it, and they're starting to become restless I'm afraid that they may decide to do something dangerous.'

Galbatorix took a large mouthful of wine. 'Why bother?' he sneered, dabbing his mouth clean. 'I might as well let them enjoy the notion that the Mad King is dead for a little while longer. I'm not completely heartless, you know.'

'Sire, this is serious,' said Walden. 'This is not just idle talk. Seven city guards have been assaulted this week alone, and three of them were killed. The people are becoming openly rebellious. We can't find any obvious ringleaders, but we are beginning to be afraid that at this rate they could decide to try and storm the castle.'

'Do you really think they're that stupid, Walden?' said Galbatorix.

'Yes, Sire, I do,' Walden answered baldly.

There was a brief silence, and then Galbatorix suddenly let out a short laugh. 'Hah! Well, I admire your honesty there, Walden. Yes, I suppose you're right. Far fewer numbers have done far more reckless things. I knew of one man who was so recklessly bent on destroying his enemies that he tried to conquer a city on his own with his hands shackled together.'

Walden blinked. 'Dear gods, Sire, he must have been mad.'

'So people said,' said Galbatorix. 'But they changed their tune after he succeeded.'

'You mean he actually won, Sire?'

'Well yes,' said Galbatorix. 'He was me.' The hint of a smile showed in his eyes, but it quickly faded and he pushed his food away, virtually untouched, and stood up. 'Well, I'll be in my office. Don't hesitate to come and see me if anything comes up.'

Walden stood too. 'Sire, don't you think you should eat a little more?'

'I'm not hungry.' Galbatorix walked out of the room. Though he was still as eerily silent as always he had lost his old grace and now he moved slowly – almost shuffling. Walden, watching him, suddenly remembered how old he was. It was easy to forget. Or it had been once. He briefly considered going after him, but quickly decided against it and resignedly sat back down to finish his own meal. A week since Morzan's funeral, and even though the King had apparently recovered from his brush with death Walden – and everyone else in the castle – knew he wasn't himself. Never talkative, he had now become silent almost to the point of being entirely mute. He moved slowly and still retained an unpleasant wheeze, but refused point-blank to let the healers examine him. Walden had known him for most of his life and had become used to his secrecy and his stubborn insistence on remaining as independent as possible, but this went beyond that, and Walden was worried.

Galbatorix reached the door to his office, unlocked it and went inside. Once there, he locked the door behind him, half-staggered to the desk and slumped into the chair, his head and shoulders resting on the desktop in front of him. He stayed there for at least a minute, gasping for breath, then pulled himself up right and began to cough. He coughed for a long time, his face twisting with pain. The coughing brought up flecks of mucus, and he dragged a piece of cloth out of his pocket and dabbed it away from his mouth. He managed to force himself to stop coughing with a strong effort of will, squeezing the piece of cloth in his grip until it had become a hard-packed wad. Once he had caught his breath again he loosened his grip and the cloth fell out onto the desk. There were specks of blood on it. He hastily snatched it up and stowed it away in his pocket, and then fumbled inside his robe. The crown was in there, in the hidden pocket where he usually kept it, but he shoved it aside and reached into the bottom of the pocket. His fingers closed around a small glass phial, and he pulled it out. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and then downed the contents in one swallow. In an instant, as the liquid poured down his throat, a vision suddenly flashed into his mind. He saw Morzan, sitting at the table in the dining hall at the very spot where Walden had been, throwing back his head to swallow a large cup of wine in one go.

The phial dropped out of Galbatorix's hand and smashed on the floor. He put his hands over his face and slammed his elbows down on the table. He stayed like that for what seemed like a long time, rigid and silent, but he couldn't keep it up like that forever. After a while he started to move very slightly, his shoulders heaving up and down in time with his fast, ragged breaths. Breaths that began to catch in his throat. He started to sob; soft, half-strangled sobs that would have been barely audible to anyone else in the room.

Galbatorix abruptly straightened up, wrenching his hands away from his face, and hit himself in the chest as hard as he could. He followed the first blow up with others, snarling under his breath. 'Stop it! Stop it! Idiot! You gods – damned – _weak!_ Stop it! _Stop – it!'_

There was a strange, hot, tearing sensation, and then pain blossomed over his right shoulder – horrible, sickening, burning pain. He let out a stifled cry and clutched at it, gasping in shock before he very gently relaxed. He felt a coldness on his face, and two tears slowly trickled down his cheeks and soaked into his beard. 'Morzan, I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I'm s…' but his voice ran out, along with most of his strength. He undid the fastenings on his robe and pulled it open, glancing quickly at the locked door as he did so. But he knew no-one would bother him. It was law, now, that he be left alone.

He fumbled with the bandages wrapped around his chest. It was easy enough to find the spot; he could feel the wetness on the patch over his shoulder, where the pain still throbbed. He pulled the bandage away, and there it was, as he'd expected. The very first sore to open on his body, three long years ago. The scar had split open again, and already yellow, foul-smelling pus was starting to ooze out onto the skin. He had healed it so many times, just like the others, but every time they opened again within a few days. Now that this one had opened the others would too, very soon.

Galbatorix paused to gather the strength that the potion had given him, and then breathed in deeply. '_Waíse heill_,' he rasped.

Black energy glowed around the sore, and he jerked slightly all over as he felt it instantly take a toll on his already feeble reserves. But it was enough. The sore vanished once more, becoming an ugly, raised red scar, and he pulled the bandage back into place and then began to do what he had done a hundred times in the past, uncovering the deep pits in his skin, all over his arms and chest, where the sores were beginning to return. He healed them one by one and then did up his robe once again, his fingers clumsy with the fastenings. His face was slick with cold sweat, and all his skin twitched as if he had just run a mile. The pain in his lungs became worse, and he started to gasp for air.

He dragged a second bottle of the green potion from his pocket and downed it. The energy from that was enough to heal his lungs again, and he huddled down in his chair and promptly went to sleep.

He woke up again a little while later, feeling exhausted but at least able to breathe again, though his head hurt horribly. Moving jerkily, he dragged the heap of paperwork on the desk toward him and started to work on the Imperial accounts. Concentrating on that helped him keep his mind occupied. But not as much as he wanted it to.

Life had not changed much since his time in retreat. But now it was harder. He couldn't let himself be ill now, and he couldn't hide. All his energy now went toward hiding the plague from everyone around him. The first crate of potions had arrived not long after he had put the order out; supposedly the two hundred phials inside would be enough for several months. But he had already used more than fifteen of them. He had no choice. Without it magic was impossible to perform without making himself faint – with it he could manage a few small spells before his energy ran out and left him barely able to walk. The potion was human, not elvish, and it could not cure him. All it could do was lend him a little energy for a brief period. It couldn't purge the disease from his body, or stop it from constantly sapping his internal store of magic. That was how it worked, he knew. That was how it could kill even elves and riders. Supposedly it had begun as a dragon's disease, but had been transferred into riders via the link that joined their life-forces to those of their dragons. From there the disease had changed itself, feeding on their magic so that it could pass from human to human, and to elves. It was not an ordinary disease. It was a magical disease, and magic could not cure it any more than a wart could heal another wart. Not even the power that the spell of true immortality had woven into Galbatorix's flesh was enough to save him. It could stop it from killing him outright, but that was all it could do.

Galbatorix didn't believe that a cure would ever be found. After all, who but the elves or someone who knew their arts could possibly cure a disease that ordinary people had no comprehension of? The old riders and their knowledge were gone, and the elves would never return. It was all gone now. Finished. Forever.

The tip of the quill split, and ink sprayed over the parchment. Galbatorix stared blankly at it, as if mesmerised, unmoving and expressionless. He knew he would never recover. His old strength was gone forever. He would never be able to lift his sword again, and one day people would know it, one day…

Galbatorix sighed and discarded the ruined parchment. He selected a clean one and started again. So many numbers and needed adding up, so many things to attend to. He'd had to delegate many of the tasks he had once insisted on doing himself, and now he communicated with the city governors in writing rather than going to visit them himself. He had a suspicion that some of them would eventually realise that they were no longer being monitored as closely as they had once been, but there wasn't much he could do about it. But he had commanded them to keep him constantly informed of everything that happened in their provinces, no matter how inconsequential they thought it was. And there were so many other things, too, like the matter of the Imperial army, and Durza, who still hadn't sent a message…

Shruikan's presence suddenly appeared in his mind. _'Galbatorix?'_

Galbatorix ignored him and picked up another piece of paper.

'_Galbatorix, don't you dare do that,'_ Shruikan snapped.

'_What?'_ Galbatorix said irritably. _'I'm busy.'_

'_I think something bad is happening,'_ said Shruikan.

'_It's already happened. Leave me alone.'_

'_Don't you know what's going on in the city?'_ Shruikan demanded.

'_Yes, Walden told me. What of it?'_

'_Then why aren't you doing anything about it?'_

'_Who cares about it?' _said Galbatorix. _'I'm not going to waste any of my time with that lot. I've spent enough time out there making an idiot out of myself.'_

'_Galbatorix Taranisäii!'_ Shruikan roared. _'Stop sulking and get up here this instant, understood? This is serious!'_

Galbatorix sighed. _'Let the city guard deal with it. I'm too tired._'

Shruikan didn't reply. Instead he sent him an image. It was of the castle and the city as seen from the top of the dragon roost. Shruikan was looking at the space directly in front of the castle gates. There were people there. A lot of people. And more were coming to join them. Many of them were holding weapons. Sound came with the image. Shouts. Jeering. Ugly, violent sounds.

Galbatorix stood up sharply. _'What in the gods' names-?'_

'_Go down there, NOW!'_ Shruikan shouted. _'Don't stop to make excuses, GO! They have to know you're alive, you have to show them you're their master, before-,'_

Galbatorix ran to the door, staggering a little. He nearly fell over when it refused to open, and unlocked it as fast as he could, swearing feverishly. A pair of guards had stationed themselves outside in the corridor, and looked a little shocked when he came rushing out.

Galbatorix pointed at them. 'You and you, come with me. Fast.'

They fell in behind him at once as he hurried down the corridor, robe swirling. He ignored his tiredness, ignored the grey haze filling his mind, and went as fast as he could go. His office was on the second level of the castle, not too far from the huge entrance hall. There he found a scene of chaos. At least fifty people were there – servants, guards and nobles, all talking at once. Walden was there too, trying desperately to bring some sort of order but without much success. The front doors of the castle were shut and barricaded, and the shouts of the rioters could be heard from the other side. So could the thumps and the screams. They were trying to break in.

Galbatorix descended the stairs, and as people looked up and saw him they fell silent one by one and turned to face him. He could see them through the tired haze over his eyes. They were all watching him. Waiting for him to do something. They _needed_ him.

Walden came to meet him as he reached the bottom of the stairs. 'Sire, you really shouldn't-,'

'What's going on here, Lord Walden?' Galbatorix demanded.

'It's the Varden, Sire,' said Walden. 'We're certain of it. They must have been waiting for this, Sire. Now they think you're dead they've decided to make their move. Someone must have given out a message. Told the people it was time. They're trying to get into the castle, Sire. The city guard are trying to stop them, but they're outnumbered…'

'And why wasn't I told about this?' said Galbatorix.

'Well… there was a great deal of unrest, Sire, but we didn't know this was going to happen, and…'

'But when it did happen, why didn't someone inform me?' said Galbatorix. 'I should have been told immediately. Are you trying to keep me in the dark deliberately, Lord Walden?'

'You're still weak, Sire,' said Walden. 'We didn't want to give you any undue stress, and in any case-,'

Galbatorix came closer, dark and terrible and silent amid the screams of the rebels. 'I am not weak, Walden,' he said softly, almost whispering. 'I am your King.' He looked up, toward the door. 'And I am theirs,' he added. 'Now get out of my way.'

'Sire-,'

'_Now!'_ Galbatorix snapped. It wasn't a shout. He almost never shouted. But the word was sharp and sudden, like a whip.

Walden stood aside at once. Galbatorix walked past him and straight toward the doors. The crowd parted to let him through, bowing their heads to him as he passed and murmuring 'Sire'.

Galbatorix walked slowly, placing each step carefully. They couldn't see him falter. Not once. He had to look strong, he had to look confident…

He reached the door and stopped there, breathing heavily. Once he'd caught his breath again he glanced at the guards stationed in front of it. 'Open them,' he said.

'But Sire-!'

There was a thump from the other side of the doors, and then a deafening roar split the air. It went on for nearly a minute, loud enough to make the doors tremble slightly in their frame. There were screams as it died away, and thumps, and desperate scrabblings at the doors. Galbatorix could hear the sound of Shruikan's snarling and the sound of his claws and paws striking the ground and the walls on either side of the entrance.

'Open the doors!' he snapped again at the guards. 'Open them or I will have you thrown into prison. Do it!'

They didn't dare argue any further. Galbatorix stood by as they lifted away the huge wooden bars that held the doors shut and then pulled them open. They swung inward, and the first thing Galbatorix saw were the bodies of several people lying just outside where they had fallen. Shruikan was there, blocking half of the entrance with his huge bulk, his wings spread wide over his head, roaring at the fleeing crowd.

Galbatorix stepped out, carefully avoiding the corpses, and silently took his place at the black dragon's side. Shruikan abruptly brought his head around toward him, and nudged him gently with his snout. _'You're late.'_

'_Sorry. Shall we?'_

Shruikan turned away and began to walk slowly down the steps, his talons leaving deep gouges in the masonry. Galbatorix walked beside him, holding onto the spike that jutted from the raised elbow of his foreleg, and the two of them passed under the archway and out into the city.

There were people still there. The streets leading away from the square were too narrow for them all to flee at once, and not all of them were trying to flee. Some of them, incredibly, were daring to hold their ground even in the face of Shruikan's huge bulk and man-sized talons. Galbatorix knew then that the situation had become far worse than he had realised. They weren't afraid of Shruikan any more. No. They were afraid of him. But if they thought he had lost his partner…

They couldn't see him properly. His black robe made him blend in with Shruikan's scales, and as he walked forward by his side he saw some of them starting to advance. Others were raising their fists, holding bricks and chunks of stone and preparing to throw them at the dragon. Someone must have rallied them. Someone must have told them that a dragon could be killed if it was attacked by many people at once. Someone…

Galbatorix reached into his robe, searching desperately for what he needed. Gentle relief flooded through him when he found it. Just one left.

He pulled out the vial and drank its contents. The instant the energy entered him, he put a hand to his throat. '_Gefa minn rơdd eiga mæla til hundrað_.'

Magic channelled itself into his voice box, making it feel hot and energised. It used up most of the potion's power at once, but that didn't matter. He took the crown from inside his robe and put it on, and then stepped away from Shruikan and moved forward, so that they could all see him. He saw them falter when they laid eyes on him, saw them start to lower their weapons. They saw him now, and he could see their rage starting to give way to fear. And then he spoke.

'_I am your King_,' he intoned, and his voice came out a hundred times louder than usual, rushing out over the heads of the crowd and into the city, reaching every ear. He stepped forward, raising a hand to point accusingly at them. 'I am your King!' he said again, and he knew they could all hear it, every one of them. 'I am your master, I am your servant, I am your ruler, I am your protector, and I am alive.'

Dead silence, and a hundred terrified stares. Galbatorix stared back and saw them all, and images flashed through his mind. Tombs. Six tombs, all sealed. Orwyne, Ana, Tranah, Tuomas, Vander and Morzan. Six tombs, six names, six people, six deaths. Gil'ead, the Firepox in Gil'ead, the people he had tried to heal, and the murderous eyes of Brom and his accomplice before their knives came down and into his body, over and over again. And another day in another time, long long ago, on this very spot, when there were clouds in the sky and a bright sun just beyond and hundreds of people had come here and he had come out and stood on the steps of a different castle and spoken to them. All of it passed in a moment. Less than a moment. And that was when he lost control.

'_YOU!'_ he screamed, coming forward to confront them, his once-calm face suddenly twisted and distorted with deep, animal hatred. 'YOU SCUM! Traitors! You traitors! You dare to do this? You dare to come here and do this? You think I'm dead and you're happy? I die and you come to tear my Empire apart? You think you can do that?'

From out of nowhere a rock, thrown by someone in the crowd, hurtled across the gap and hit him square in the forehead. Galbatorix's yell echoed up into the sky and he staggered, blood trickling down his face. Instantly Shruikan charged forward, bellowing, scattering the crowd. But he did not kill any of them, and they returned as he came back to Galbatorix's side, snarling.

Galbatorix put a hand to his forehead and looked blankly at the blood on his fingers. But they were still there, not fleeing.

'You chose me!' he shouted, standing still in the middle of the square now and turning to look around at them all. '_You chose me!_' and, as he said it, no-one saw anything beyond the King they hated, shouting and enraged. No-one saw that he was swaying gently where he stood. No-one saw him put a foot out to stop himself from falling. No-one saw the tears on his face, or heard the bewilderment behind the anger in his voice.

And that was when, at last, a man stepped forward from the crowd. 'Tyrant!' he yelled, raising a piece of wood over his head. 'Traitor! Murderer!'

Galbatorix lifted his right hand in the blink of an eye. _'Brisingr!'_

A ball of black fire shot from his palm and hit the man square in the chest. It exploded on impact, consuming him. His screams rent the air, high and tortured and horrible, and through it all Galbatorix shouted.

'You cannot kill me! You cannot overthrow me! You cannot betray me! _I – AM – YOUR – KING!'_

The man's body hit the ground, charred beyond recognition, and the last of the mob's courage finally left. They turned and fled away back into the city, panic-stricken, and behind Galbatorix the city guard regrouped and went in pursuit.

Shruikan came to his rider's side, growling softly. Galbatorix turned and half-collapsed against the dragon's foreleg. He was gasping for breath, and blood was soaking into his hair.

Several guards came to him at once. 'Sire! Sire, are you all right – you're hurt-,'

'Don't touch me!' Galbatorix snapped. 'You've been warned about that. Go after those sons of whores. Arrest anyone who fights back.'

'Yes, Sire.'

'But-,' Galbatorix turned as they started to leave.

'Yes, Sire? What is it?'

Galbatorix put a hand to his forehead. 'If you… don't take any of them to prison. Take them to the gallows immediately, and hang them. All of them. I want them to know what happens to people who betray me. No matter who they are.'

'Yes, Sire.'

The guards ran off after the people – now a mob no longer – and Shruikan did not wait any longer. He wrapped his talons around Galbatorix and flew away, back up to the castle. He landed on the dragon roost, which was now almost completely repaired, and gently laid him down on the stone. Galbatorix managed to sit up. _'Shruikan, I…'_

Shruikan nudged him. _'Quickly – the potion. You've got to drink some, fast.'_

Galbatorix rummaged in his pockets and came up with one last vial. He drank the potion and then sighed deeply. _'I've… gods… I've… overdone it. I don't… think I can walk just now.'_

'_You don't have to,'_ said Shruikan. _'You've done enough. Rest now. They can do what has to be done now.'_

'_Shruikan, did I do the right thing?'_ said Galbatorix. _'I killed that man. I didn't mean to, but… I thought… he was attacking me, so I killed him.'_

'_I know,'_ said Shruikan. _'It was a warrior's response. And a dragon's. You are more dragon than human sometimes. Wild dragon. You've always fought like that. And…'_ he started to growl. _'There is no choice any more, Galbatorix. They must fear you. If they think they can challenge you and not be punished for it, they will… they will try something like this again. There must be a response. There must be punishment.'_

'_Yes, Shruikan. You're right. I've…'_ Galbatorix calmed down as he spoke. From up here he could see the city. See the struggle taking place in the streets. His eyes narrowed, and he started to bare his teeth in a hateful snarl. _'I've done everything for them. Everything they needed, I gave them. And they murdered the others, one by one. Left me all alone. And then they thought they could take the Empire away from me. If they want me to be a tyrant, well then a tyrant is what I'll be. I'll put this rebellion down. I'll do whatever it takes. Anyone who joins them dies. No more leniency. No more weakness. I'll kill them all. Every last one.'_


	30. A New Hope

Chapter Thirty

A New Hope

She was home. She knew it as soon as she saw the mountains.

The journey had been a long one, and had become increasingly unpleasant as her pregnancy advanced. Her abdomen had begun to swell noticeably by the time they had reached the halfway point, and she began to feel tired and nervy. Her back ached constantly from being in the saddle, and she wished the journey would end soon. She knew that travelling in her current state wasn't good for her. And she wanted to be home. She wanted to see her Brom again. She wanted to see Garrow, and the house where she had grown up, and all the people she had known. She wanted to be safe again, in a place she knew, where no-one would ever think to look for her. She wanted to be home.

Her travelling companions were kind enough to her. There were two of them; brothers who gave their names as Tam and Alann. They rode alongside her and looked after her when they camped at night, and when she confided to them that she was pregnant they went out of their way to keep her comfortable and well-fed, and constantly asked after her health and that of the child. She was glad of it; she was too tired now, and too strained, to do much more than what was asked of her. Travelling didn't suit her, and nor did camping in the edges of the Spine. She'd grown too used to being waited on by servants and having the best of everything, and she knew that it would be a while before she readjusted herself to being poor once again.

The mountains changed as they travelled along beside them, becoming gradually taller and more bare. They were heading Northward, into colder country, but it didn't worry Selena. She knew the mountains now, knew their shape. She was coming back into country she recognised. Home wasn't far.

The journey took three months, as Ruel had predicted, and the day finally came when Selena woke up and saw the mountains she had been unable to see on the previous night, and knew that they were there. She knew them now – she could see the shapes of the four peaks in whose shelter Carvahall had been built. Somewhere at the foot of one was the cave in which Murtagh had been conceived.

Her two companions knew it too. They rode on with her for a time, straight toward those mountains, and finally stopped at the beginning of a narrow pass that led straight through the Spine. There they stopped.

'Well, my Lady,' said Tam, 'This is where we leave you.'

Selena looked uncertainly at the pass. It had high, craggy walls and was full of ferns and shadows. 'Do I go through there?'

'Yes. Don't worry; it's been used before and it leads straight through the Spine and out the other side. It's a smooth enough road; you won't have to dismount.'

'Where does the other end open out?' said Selena.

'Well, when you get there you'll see a patch of forest,' said Alann. 'Ride straight through it and you'll come out onto the main road between Carvahall and Therinsford. From there it should only be a few hours to Carvahall – you should be there by nightfall if you keep up a good pace.'

Selena nodded. 'I see. Well…' she turned in the saddle and looked at her two companions. 'Thankyou so much for bringing me here.'

Tam bowed his head and smiled. 'You're more than welcome, my Lady, you're entitled. The best we have to offer is yours for what you've done. Here.' He tossed a bundle of cloth toward her. 'That's my spare cloak, in case you need the extra warmth. I've wrapped some food up in it for you.'

Selena caught it and put it on the saddle in front of herself. 'Thankyou, Tam. And… good luck, both of you.'

Alann grinned. 'I'd fight two wars for a lady as beautiful and gracious as yourself, my Lady Selena. Now, good luck. Take care of yourself, and the child.'

'I will,' Selena promised, and turned her horse toward the pass. The animal obediently trotted forward, and she set out, leaving Tam and Alann behind.

The pass became even narrower once she was well inside it, and proved to be quite dark as well. It was also damp. The air was full of the clicking of insects and the sound of water trickling down the mountainside to her left. Selena shivered and pulled her cloak more tightly over her shoulders. Dragons had lived in these mountains once, she remembered. Wild dragons, who would kill anyone who entered their territory without invitation. Even the old riders had feared to enter the Spine. But that time was past. Ever since Galbatorix and the Forsworn had slaughtered the dragons down to the last member of their ancient race, thus ensuring that no more riders could ever come unless the three eggs they had stolen chose to hatch. Now the Spine was empty, inhabited only by animals. But they still had the power to frighten people, and Selena had always been wary of going near them. Still, she reminded herself, she had nothing to fear. And she shouldn't be afraid, either, not after what she had done. She was not a lowly peasant girl any more. She was the Lady Selena now. She was a hero. And a hero didn't fear a few mountains.

That thought helped to sustain her during the time it took to reach the end of the pass. It was fairly easy going, as she'd been told to expect, and her confidence soared as she rode on. This wasn't hard, not for her, it was easy and she could do it, she could. The pass opened up at around midday and she rode out of it and into the forest beyond. From there she kept on going, moving in as straight a line as she could manage, until she emerged into the open and found the road there waiting for her, just as she had hoped. There were no other travellers using it, but she wasn't surprised by that. Not many people came to Carvahall. She would be able to enter the village without meeting anyone else along the way. She stopped by the road to rest and eat some of the food she'd been given, and once she felt ready she remounted and rode Northward along the road, heading straight for the four mountains, and Carvahall.

Hours passed, and the sun grew lower as the road steadily steepened. The horse was starting to tire, but Selena didn't particularly notice. All her thoughts were on her destination. Would they be surprised to see her? What was she going to tell them?

And then, at last, she could see it – the houses on the edge of the village slowly coming into view at the top of the hill she was climbing. She would be there in a matter of minutes.

But that was when she stopped. She got down off the horse and tethered it to a post by the road. Then she opened the bag slung on its back, and rummaged through it until she unearthed a carefully-folded bundle. The fine gown Morzan had given her looked creased and grubby as she unfolded it, but she didn't care. She stripped off the stained dress and cloak she had worn on her journey and put it on, along with the pearl-encrusted hairnet. The gown was as fine and soft as she remembered, and fitted her perfectly, though it was tight now around the midsection. Selena smiled to herself as she packed away the old dress. If she was going to come back into Carvahall she would do it as a Lady, not as a fugitive.

The sun was dipping below the mountains as she got back into the saddle and rode up and into the village. And…

She wanted to cry. Nothing had changed. It was all there, all just as she remembered. The butcher, the tanner and the blacksmith, all exactly as they had been three long years ago when Idün had landed in the square and Morzan had got down off her back and changed her life forever. There were a few people around, but none of them noticed her much. It was too dark for them to see her properly, most likely. Selena felt a little crestfallen when the entire village didn't immediately come running to greet her. Perhaps, after all, she didn't loom that large in anyone's memory. They must have all forgotten her.

As she rode past the tanner, though, a man sitting outside it saw her. He stood up, but said nothing. As Selena looked in his direction, he silently touched his forelock in a gesture of respect. She just stared at him, uncomprehending, and he turned and hurried inside without a word.

Selena sighed and turned the horse toward her old home. She was too tired now to care about what anyone would think. All she wanted to do was get home and see Garrow.

Her home hadn't changed either. It was still there, a dark shape against the twilight sky, and she could see the light of a candle shining out through a window. Her heart beat faster. Garrow was home. He was still there.

She got down off the horse and tethered it to a tree, and then lifted down her bag and went inside.

Garrow was sitting at the table, eating his supper. With him was a woman Selena didn't recognise. The pair of them looked up sharply when she entered, and froze.

Garrow stood up sharply. 'Who are you?' he said, staring at her. 'My… my Lady?'

Selena looked back, bewildered. 'Garrow?' she said. 'Don't you recognise me?'

Garrow stood still a moment longer, and then he suddenly let out a cry and rushed at her. 'Selena!' he cried, taking her in a great, crushing hug. 'Oh my gods, it's Selena!'

Selena dropped her bag and hugged him back. 'Garrow, I'm so glad to see you!'

The woman had stood up too. 'Garrow, what's going on?' she said. 'Who is this?'

Garrow let go of Selena and let her toward the table, grinning. 'Marian, it's Selena! It's really her, she's come home!'

'Selena?' the woman repeated. 'Dear gods, you never said she was a-,'

Selena smiled shyly at her. 'Hello. I don't believe we've met.'

'Selena, this is Marian,' said Garrow. 'My wife.'

'Your-,' Selena started. 'You got married?'

'Yes, just last year,' said Garrow. 'We met in Therinsford. And guess what – we've just had out first child. Marian, go and get him, would you?'

'Oh, of course!' Marian smiled, and hurried off into one of the bedrooms. She came back carrying a small bundle, which she held out for Selena to see.

Selena looked down at the tiny face of a baby. It was awake and reached out a pudgy hand toward her. She held her own hand down toward it and it grasped hold of her finger.

A warm rush of love and protectiveness rose up inside her, and she smiled. 'Look at you! You're so tiny!' _Just like Murtagh,_ her inner voice whispered, and she winced as the feeling of love was replaced by a hot swoop of guilt and worry. She looked up at Garrow. 'Is it a girl or a boy?'

'A boy,' said Garrow. 'His name's Roran. But – Selena, sit down. Have something to eat.'

Selena picked up her bag and took a seat at the table, and Garrow and Marian sat too – Garrow dragging an old crate over to serve as a seat for himself. He offered her some bread and cheese and she ate it, suddenly ravenous.

Marian cradled the baby in her arms, her bright eyes fixed on Selena's face. She was quite pretty, and had a kind of rough grace to her in spite of the plain dress she wore. 'So,' she said. 'You're the famous Selena. I'm so pleased to meet you – Garrow told me all about you, but I didn't think you'd ever come back.'

'No-one did,' said Garrow. 'Selena, where in the world did you go? And where did you get that dress from? You look like a Lady!'

Selena put down her food. 'I went a long way,' she said. 'To Teirm.' She'd prepared this story beforehand, and hoped her face didn't betray her.

Garrow looked nearly awestruck. 'Teirm! You went all that way?'

Selena nodded. 'It's a beautiful place.'

'But why did you go there?'

She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. 'I told you I wanted to look for a different life. I thought Teirm would be a place where I could find one.'

'And you did, by the looks of it,' said Marian. 'What happened it?'

'I got a job,' Selena lied. 'Working as a maid in a nobleman's house. And while I was there I fell in love.'

'With who?' said Garrow. 'Someone wealthy by the looks of it.'

'It's…' Selena hesitated. 'It's a long story. I don't really want to tell all of it. It's too… I'm not ready yet.'

'I understand. Just tell us what you want to.'

'I lived with a wealthy man for a while,' said Selena. 'He said he would marry me and make me a Lady, and I believed him. But he never did. He gave me fine dresses and jewels, but he wouldn't marry me. He said I was too lowly for him. And then he died. So I came back here. I didn't know where else to go.'

'Well, you're more than welcome here,' said Marian. 'We could do with a little extra help around here.'

'There's something else,' said Selena. 'Garrow, I'm sorry, I don't want to be a burden on you, I really don't. I've got a little money with me, but if you can't afford to keep me here I'll understand. It's just that-,'

Garrow took her hand. 'Selena, Selena, calm down. We're not going to throw you out. You're my sister. I'd do anything to look after you. Now what's wrong?'

Selena sighed. 'Garrow, I'm pregnant.'

There was silence for a time.

'That's wonderful, Selena,' said Marian. 'I'm happy for you. How long will it be?'

'Four months, I think,' said Selena. 'Garrow, I know how hard this could be for you…'

'Well,' Garrow said briskly, 'I don't see why that's anything to be overly worried about. I think Roran would be happy to have a brother or a sister. And don't worry, we can manage. We've always managed, haven't we? Eh? And you're welcome here, Selena. This will always be your home, until you choose to leave it.'

Selena smiled. 'Thankyou, Garrow.'

'So,' said Garrow, pushing another piece of cheese toward her. 'Tell us about what you've seen. What's Teirm like? Did you meet any interesting people? What's a noble's house really like?'

Selena took the piece of cheese and ate it. It was dry and slightly mouldy, but it was a taste she knew. It was a taste of home. Quite suddenly, she started to feel happy.

'Well,' she said, giggling in a way she had not done in a long time, 'I suppose I could tell you a few stories…'

Garrow and Marian listened closely, both fascinated, as she regaled them with stories of her time among the nobility. She talked about nobles she had met, parties she had attended, affairs of politics and marriages and the strange ways of the wealthy. She gave Garrow the presents she had bought for him in Teirm, and gave Marian some of her jewels in lieu of the gifts she would have bought for her too, along with some of the baby clothes she had bought for her own child. No doubt he wouldn't mind sharing. Her listeners were enthralled by everything she said, and it slowly occurred to her just how strange the world she had lived in for three years must seem to them. After all, they had lived their entire lives out here in the countryside. Neither of them had ever seen a castle, or a noble lady in silks and velvets, or even a real sword. They knew nothing of the things she had seen. Kings, Lords, dragons, magic and madness… so many things that she had never imagined back in her old life, before she was a Lady. That was when she truly began to understand just how much her life had changed when she had gone to Gil'ead to seek out the man she had become infatuated by.

But these thoughts were a mere distraction from what was truly on her mind. All the while as she talked, she was trying to fight down the urge to say something about it. Finally, when she was done and the candle had begun to burn low, she said; 'Well that's enough about me. What about you? What's been going on here?'

'Not that much,' said Garrow. 'Horst got married a couple of years ago. He's just had his second child. And old Archenan died last winter – you remember him, don't you? And-,'

Selena listened impatiently as he talked about the doings of the village, forcing herself not to interrupt. When Garrow paused a moment, she said; 'What about Brom? How's he been?' she did her best to keep her voice casual, but her heart fluttered as she listened anxiously for his reply.

'Brom?' said Garrow. 'Oh, that crazy old man. Haven't seen him in a long time.'

'You mean he's left?' said Selena.

'Yes, not long after you did, actually,' said Garrow. 'His house is all shut up – I heard it's been sold to someone over in Therinsford or somewhere like that. They haven't moved in yet, though.'

'But where did he go?' said Selena. 'Why?'

Garrow shrugged. 'You know his sort, they never stay put for long. I'm fairly sure he told me he was moving to Bullridge or somewhere like that. I'm surprised he can't bring himself to settle down at his age. You'd think such an unsettled life would wear you down, but there you go.'

Selena's heart sank. 'So he didn't come back.'

'No, and as far as I know he's not going to,' said Garrow. 'It's a bit of a shame. I miss listening to his stories in the tavern of an evening. He'd seen some amazing things, hadn't he?'

Selena said nothing, but her stomach had begun to churn. He hadn't come back. He wasn't here waiting for her as she had expected. But where was he? Had something happened to him?

Her resolve hardened. _No,_ she told herself, not really listening as Garrow talked on. _I won't give him up. He'll come back here some day, to find me again. And I'll wait for as long as I have to._

But Brom did not return. Not that month, or the month after that. As the time dragged by and Selena quietly settled back into something resembling her old life, she heard nothing of him. Some of the villagers still talked about him, but they all confirmed Garrow's story – that Brom had sold his house and left Carvahall for good. No-one, though, seemed to know exactly where he had gone or why. Selena heard everything from his having gone to Bullridge to live with family, to his having gone all the way to Surda. No-one could agree on the same story, and that puzzled her for a while, until she finally realised that Brom must have done this on purpose, to confuse anyone trying to track him. Someone like him couldn't afford to take risks.

The months passed, and the stir over her return died down soon enough. Plenty of questions were asked, but Selena only said that she had gone to live elsewhere for a while and had come back when she had decided that she couldn't live in her new home any longer. 'I went to explore the world,' as she told Horst, the blacksmith, 'I wanted to learn. But all I learned is that the only place anyone can be happy is at home, with their friends and their family.'

That was a sentiment most of the villagers appreciated, and she fended off most of their other questions without too much trouble. Carvahallians believed in respecting other peoples' privacy and didn't like to ask too many questions if they weren't welcome. She was glad of that. All she wanted now was to live quietly and to fit in with ordinary people once again, and she was happy to find that she could do just that. She had never truly belonged among nobles but here, she saw, she fitted in. Here the world made sense. Here she had respect, and acceptance, and that made her happy.

But still Brom did not return. Two months passed, and then a third, and all the while her pregnancy continued to progress. Her abdomen swelled until she was forced to wear the baggiest dresses she and Marian could sew between them. She felt exhausted all the time, and her back ached terribly. The baby started to move about inside her; she could feel him kick from time to time, and knew he was healthy. She had worried that the journey might have had a bad effect on him, but as far as she could tell he was fine. She entered the ninth and final month of her pregnancy, and still Brom had not come. But the child wouldn't wait any longer for his father to return.

Selena was out in the field when her labour began. It was morning and she was helping to weed the vegetable patch – her pregnancy was far too far advanced for her to do anything much more strenuous than that, but she had insisted on doing what she could in spite of Garrow's protests that she should rest.

As she bent carefully to wrench out a stem of milkweed, she suddenly cried out and straightened up, clutching at her belly. A sharp, wrenching sensation had suddenly gone through her. It died away quickly, but she knew what it meant. She turned calmly and walked back toward the house, where Marian was feeding Roran.

'What is it, Selena? Not feeling well?'

Selena winced and rubbed her back. 'The baby's coming,' she said.

'Oh!' Marian hastily put Roran back into his cradle and ran to her side. 'Come on, let's get you to bed,' she said, taking her by the arm and steering her away into her old bedroom. Selena didn't protest. She lay down on her straw mattress and allowed Marian to make her comfortable. Another contraction came a short time later, and she winced.

'I'll go and tell Garrow,' said Marian. 'And then I'll get you something to drink. Just hold on, you're going to be fine.'

Selena nodded. 'I'm all right.'

She rested patiently on her pallet as Marian left. It wouldn't be long now. And though it had been more than three years since she had last given birth, she felt strangely confident.

'It's all right,' she whispered, gently stroking her abdomen. 'You're going to be all right. You're Brom's son. You're strong, like him. You can do this.'

Garrow came a short time later, and the look of worry on his face was so intense that it struck Selena as comical. She laughed and clasped his hand. 'It's all right, Garrow, I'm fine. I can do this. This is what every woman is meant to do, you'll see.'

Marian brought her some warm milk. 'Here, I added a few herbs. It should help you relax.'

Selena drank it gratefully; it was warm and sweet, and wonderfully soothing, but before she had finished it she cried out and thrust the mug back into Marian's hands as another contraction took hold of her. This one was longer and more powerful, and she shuddered as it let her go again. Her face had gone hot and slick with sweat, and she grabbed Marian's hand. 'Quick… go… open my bag… there's a bottle of potion in there. It's y- it's yellow, quick get it…'

Marian pulled away from her and darted across the room to where the bag lay. She rummaged through it while Garrow took her place at Selena's side. 'It's all right,' he said, touching her forehead. 'It's all right, just relax…'

Selena managed a smile. 'Garrow, stop fussing. I'm fine.'

He looked slightly embarrassed. 'I'm sorry, but… what do you want me to do?'

'Go and look after Roran,' said Selena. 'I'll be a while yet.'

'Well, if you're sure…'

'Yes, it's probably better if you step out,' said Marian, returning with the potion in her hand. 'This is women's' work. And we'll call you if anything happens,' she added, holding the potion out for Selena to take.

Garrow nodded. 'All right. Good luck, Selena. I'll be right outside if you need me.'

Marian picked up a scrap of cloth and dabbed the sweat away from Selena's forehead. 'I've got the potion. What am I supposed to do with it?'

'I've got to drink it,' said Selena. 'It'll help the birth.'

'All right.' Marian pulled out the cork and carefully put the bottle into Selena's hand. She drank the potion in a few mouthfuls – it had an odd, spicy flavour, with a bitter aftertaste, but she managed to get it all down. A few moments later she tensed and gritted her teeth as another contraction came, as if encouraged by the potion. But it too passed, and she rested and drank the rest of the milk.

And that was how it went for the next hour or so. Selena rested, tensed and rested again as the contractions continued to come, one after the other, gradually becoming more and more powerful. They came faster as they strengthened, and all she could do was lie still and try to conserve her strength as her body wrenched itself out of her control. It was as if every muscle in it was working at once, squeezing and squeezing until she was hot and sweating and her vision greyed. She slept briefly between the contractions, but as midday came she felt her womb open and lay back, gasping and helpless. This was it.

There was a wet tearing sound, and clear liquid started to soak into the pallet beneath her. Blood came with it, too. Selena jerked and screamed, her head thrown back and her hands clenching into fists. The baby was coming now, it was coming…

Marian was calm. She pulled the blankets away and pulled back her skirts, rubbing her stomach and encouraging her. 'Come on, you can do it. Push! Push hard! You can do it!'

And Selena pushed. She clenched her teeth and pitted all her strength into it, pushing her muscles to give their all. The pain was horrible; wrenching, tearing, awful pain. But she laboured on, nearly silent now, her eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling.

A vision swam before her, in the semi-darkness of the place where she had first bedded Morzan. Brom, his lined face gentle, eyes bright and staring into hers. _You can do it, Selena. My Selena. My love. My Selena._

'Brom,' Selena whispered, and then…

There was a sudden release, and she felt the child finally emerge from her body. Marian guided it out, crying; 'Here it is! You've done it! It's over, Selena, you've done it!'

Selena heard her. She lay back, utterly exhausted, feeling her body finally relax. The afterbirth came a few moments later, and then she blacked out.

She woke up to a sound she knew – a shrill, wonderful, powerful sound. The cries of a newborn child, calling for her. Her child.

Marian had cut the cord and had wrapped the baby up. She put it into Selena's arms, worn but smiling. 'It's a boy,' she said.

Selena held the child close, too weak to do anything else. He quietened after a while, and she pulled her breast from her dress and guided the nipple into his mouth. He began to suckle almost at once, and only then did she finally relax. 'My son,' she whispered. _Brom's son. _

Marian stood up, smiling joyfully. 'You did it, Selena.'

Selena looked up at her, and managed a nod. 'Yes,' she mumbled. 'I did… I did it.'

'Well just you let me clean up,' said Marian. 'Don't mind me; you rest now. You need it.'

Selena managed a smile. 'Oh… yes.'

After that she slept; the deep, dreamless sleep of the exhausted. When she woke up again, hours later, it was night and Garrow was there, with Marian, sitting beside her and watching over her. Her brother looked exhausted, she noticed, as if he were the one who had just given birth rather than herself.

He managed a smile, though, and touched her forehead. 'Hello, Selena. How do you feel?'

Selena looked down at the baby. He was asleep, nestled in her arms. 'I feel… happy,' she said.

'And so you should be,' said Garrow. 'You've got a fine son there.'

Suddenly, Selena wanted to laugh. 'Yes,' she said. 'A fine son. The finest anywhere.'

Marian was holding Roran in her arms. He was awake, his milky infant eyes peering myopically up at his mother's face. She stroked his head. 'See?' she whispered. 'See that, Roran? That's your cousin. You've got a cousin. Isn't he beautiful?'

Roran stirred and cooed softly, and Marian smiled and held him close.

'So,' said Garrow. 'Have you got a name for him yet?'

Selena nodded and kissed the child's forehead. He had a few wisps of hair already, and they were pale – almost white. But she knew he would not be blond like herself. His hair would be brown, light brown, like his father's. And his eyes… would they be blue like Brom's, or brown like hers? It didn't matter. He was hers. Her beautiful son.

'What are you going to call him?' said Marian.

Selena wrapped her arms more tightly around the child, clutching him to her as if he were the most precious thing in the world. 'Eragon,' she said. 'His name is Eragon.'


	31. Kingdom for a Heart

Chapter Thirty-One

Kingdom for a Heart

They hadn't wanted him to go. And, he had to admit, they were right to want him to stay. He had gone to Farthen Dûr, the dwarvish city where the rebels were now staying, and there taken part in the celebrations that marked the death of the King, and he knew he would remember it for the rest of his life. But he knew he couldn't stay there. They'd already guessed at what he was going to do, but there had still been shock when he had announced it.

'I'm leaving,' he'd said at the height of the feast. 'I'm going to Carvahall to settle down, and I don't intend to return.'

There'd been protests at that, hundreds of them, filling the underground hall with shouts of dismay. But he'd faced them calmly. His mind was made up.

'I've done what I promised to do,' he'd answered. 'The last of the traitors is dead, and now the Empire is weak enough to be overthrown. Already the signal has gone out to our friends all over the country. There will be riots in Urû'baen itself, and the castle will be stormed. The oppressors will die and Alagaësia will be ours again. You don't need me any more; you can do this alone. You have already done so much.'

Hanh had stood up and taken hold of his arm. 'No. We need your leadership, Brom. You're the best fighter among us.'

'I'm getting old, Hanh,' Brom had replied. 'No, don't try and tell me I'm not; I am. A hundred years was enough. All I want now is to live at peace for a time, and not worry about the affairs of the country any longer. But I'll always be there when I'm needed. I'll stay in touch. And I'll keep my promise and train the new rider when he comes, that much you can be assured of. A new leader will arise to take my place.'

And that was it. He'd gently fended off all argument and sat back down again, and now it was done. Once the celebrations were done he left Farthen Dûr, quietly, wanting to avoid a fuss, and rode off alone into anonymity. He stayed well away from the major cities, where he knew the final uprising would soon begin. Everything had been arranged; there was nothing more he needed to do, and stopping along the way would only delay him.

He turned Northward instead. Toward Carvahall. She would be waiting for him there. He knew it.

The journey was long, and made longer by his avoidance of the main roads. But he had done it a hundred times before. He knew how to stay hidden, how to hunt and forage for food and how to use the landscape to his advantage. It took him several long months to reach the distant part of the country he was aiming for, but reach it he did, and he quietly rode back into Carvahall at night and slipped back into his old house, unnoticed.

The place had become quite run-down during his long absence. Dust lay over everything, and a hedgehog had got in and made a nest under one of the cupboards. He dumped his bags on the floor and lit a fire in the grate with a quick blast of magic, then sagged into a chair and sighed; a long, exhausted sigh. Home at last. Thank gods.

The house started to warm up after a short time, and he sighed again and relaxed, letting the fire soothe his aching bones. It felt like an age since he'd slept in a real bed.

Making himself start moving again felt like the cruellest thing he'd ever done, but he sagged forward and dragged the largest of his bags toward him and then opened it. He searched through it and pulled out a long object wrapped in cloth. When he pulled some of the wrappings away, they revealed a shining silver hilt set with a red stone.

Something hurt inside him the instant he saw it. Maybe it was his heart. The wound left by Saphira's death ached, and he felt a lump arise in his throat. This sword…

He pulled the wrappings back into place and threw it aside. It landed with a muffled clank, and he wrenched the bag open and started to go through the rest of its contents, taking out food and clothing and the gifts his friends had given him on their parting. But he was too tired to unpack now. He ate a sparse meal from the rations he had left from the journey, and then stumped into the back room. His old straw pallet was still there, though it badly needed restuffing. He shook the dust out of it and did his best to make it comfortable with a couple of blankets he'd left folded in a corner, and then returned to the main room. He reluctantly picked up Zar'roc from off the floor and looked around the room, searching for somewhere to hide it. In the end he stuffed it behind the stack of firewood next to the fireplace. It could stay there until he found a better place for it. That done, he returned to the back room and flopped down onto the bed.

He lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling and not thinking about much. After a while the fire in the next room burned down, and he pulled the blanket over himself and lay back, resting his head on his arm. He realised, eventually, that he hadn't taken his boots off, but he couldn't be bothered to do anything about it now. A short time later, he fell asleep.

People were surprised to see him the next day, when he calmly went out into the village and returned to his old life as if nothing had happened, pausing to greet old aquaintances.

Horst, the young blacksmith, openly gaped at him. 'Brom! Well knock me down with a feather, it's really you!'

Brom prodded at his own face, feeling his hair and beard with a look of pretended nervousness, but then relaxed and grinned. 'Yes, so it would seem. You had me worried there for a minute. So, how are you?'

Horst chuckled. 'Well you haven't changed much, have you? I'm doing well. Just had my second son. I just earned a good whack of money repairing a cart at short notice – I'm thinking of using some of it to pretty my house up a bit. You know, add some decorations on the eaves, maybe. So where in the world have you been? We didn't think we'd ever see you again. Weren't you moving to Gil'ead or something?'

Brom shrugged. 'It turned out I hadn't quite managed to rid myself of the traveller's sickness. I just had to go out and see some more of the world, but… well, things are a bit unsettled out there at the moment so I thought it was about time I headed for home again.'

Horst scratched his nose. 'I'd heard something about some sort of fuss going on in the Empire. What's up, Brom?'

'I'm not really sure,' said Brom. 'But whatever it is, it's big.'

Horst started to look slightly nervous. 'How big?'

'The Varden is getting stronger,' said Brom. 'Much stronger. It seems they're bigger than everyone thought; they're being joined by new recruits all the time.'

'Well why isn't the King stopping them?'

Brom shrugged again. 'The Lord Morzan is dead,' he said.

'Y– what? Dead? Are you sure?'

'Oh yes. It happened some time ago. The news is all over the Empire. In fact…'

'Yes?' said Horst.

Brom glanced around quickly and lowered his voice. 'In fact, some people are saying that the King himself is dead.'

Horst dropped his hammer. 'What?'

'That's what they're saying,' said Brom. 'They're claiming that he hasn't left Urû'baen and come to deal with the Varden himself because someone assassinated him and the Empire is trying to pretend he's still alive. Either way he hasn't left his castle in a very long time – more than three years. But I doubt that's the case,' he added, seeing Horst's shock.

'My gods,' the blacksmith muttered. 'The King, dead… but that means… gods, that means there's no riders left any more, doesn't it? The last one is gone.'

'The riders were gone a long time ago, Horst,' said Brom. 'The King saw to that.'

'Yes… Brom, d'you really think that's true? Could the King really be dead?'

'I doubt it, personally,' Brom said in casual tones. 'It's just a rumour, and I've heard far more ridiculous things than that recently. It's nothing to do with us. We're out of the way here, and if war comes, it won't come here. Why should it? There's nothing here that the Empire wants. And I'm tired of worrying about that sort of thing. What's been happening _here?_ That's what I want to know.'

'Well…' Horst looked thoughtful. 'Garrow's got himself a wife and a child. A little boy called Roran. And… oh! Yes, of course – and then there was that fuss with Selena, now that was a bit of a stir.'

'Selena?' said Brom. 'What happened?'

'Well you know she left here, don't you?' said Horst. 'Weren't you still here when that happened?'

'Yes, I did. Why, has she come back?'

'Yes, a few months ago,' said Horst. 'In the autumn. Just rode in here one evening, all on her own, and… well I'm damned if I know where she'd been, but she came back a Lady.'

Brom blinked in a surprised fashion. He'd had plenty of long practise at faking reactions to things. 'A Lady?' he repeated. 'What in the world do you mean, Horst?'

'Well she came back wearing a fine gown, with pearls in her hair,' said Horst. 'I never saw an outfit that rich. She told me she fell in with a rich man over Teirm way but he died so she decided to come home.' He grinned. 'I'll bet plenty of the lads were happy to see her again.'

Brom felt warm all over with relief. So she had made it back. 'So she's moved back in with her brother, has she?'

Horst nodded. 'Well, she did for a while. Stayed with him for, I dunno, four months or so, kept to herself mostly. I talked to her a few times. She'd changed while she was away. You could see that. Just goes to show – if you travel, you never come home quite the same as you were before. And I reckon Selena changed for the better. She was less giggly. Not so flighty, if you know what I mean. She'd learned how to take life more serious, like. And then, before you knew it, she was gone again.'

'Gone?' said Brom. 'What d'you mean? Gone as in dead?'

'Oh, no,' said Horst. 'I mean she up and left again. No warning; she was just gone. It was odd. She didn't tell anyone where she was going. I thought it was rather selfish of her, myself, running off and leaving like that, especially since… well she left her son behind. Can you believe that? The child's only a few months old and she left him!' he shook his head. 'That woman's a terrible mother. I hate to say it, but she is.'

'What?' said Brom. 'What child? What are you talking about?'

'Well, she came home pregnant,' said Horst. 'The boy was born a few months later. Garrow and his wife Marian have taken him in, but they're going to be hard-pressed, raising two children on that little farm of theirs.'

Brom had gone cold all over. Pregnant. She had been pregnant…

'Anything the matter?' Horst enquired.

Brom shook his head. 'I'm sorry, it's just that… how could she abandon her own son like that? I never thought she'd do something like that.'

'Neither did we,' said Horst. 'I mean, we always knew she was a bit silly, but that's just cruel. Well,' he added philosophically, 'No doubt she had her reasons. She'll be back, most likely.'

'Yes… well, I'd better be on my way,' said Brom.

Horst nodded. 'It was good to see you again, Brom. We've missed you an' your wild stories. Are you going to be staying here long?'

'What? Oh… I'm not sure. I hope so.' Brom nodded formally and strode off.

He passed straight through the village and headed for Garrow's house as fast as he could. When he reached it he found it more or less unchanged. Garrow was busy hoeing a patch of potatoes, helped by a woman whom Brom surmised must be Marian.

Garrow looked shocked to see him. 'Brom! Good gods, what are you doing back here?'

'Hello, Garrow, it's good to see you. And this must be Marian.'

Marian inclined her head. 'So you're Brom. I've heard a lot about you – I thought you'd left for good?'

'I had planned to,' said Brom. 'But I found I started missing the place after a while. So here I am, back again.'

Garrow came toward him, holding out a soil-encrusted hand. Brom shook it without complaint. 'Well,' said Garrow, 'It's wonderful to have you back. The village seemed so much quieter without you around.'

'Well, with any luck I'll be here for some time,' said Brom. 'But what's this I hear about your sister?'

'Ah.' Garrow looked troubled. 'So you heard about how she came back, did you?'

'Yes, I did. Horst said she came back rich – is that true?'

'Well, I suppose it is in a way,' said Garrow. 'Here, come inside why don't you. I need something to drink.'

Brom followed him into the house with Marian, and sat down at the table. There was a cradle in the room now, and when he got up and went over to have a look he found two babies curled up in it, asleep. He watched them, wondering hopelessly which was which. They looked the same to him.

Marian joined him. 'The one on the left is my son,' she said softly. 'Roran. And the other is my nephew, Eragon.'

'Eragon,' Brom murmured. 'That's… a strange name.'

'Selena chose it. Come on, let's not disturb them.'

Brom returned to the table and accepted the mug of water Garrow offered him.

'It's not much,' he said apologetically. 'But we're a little short on money at the moment. So, tell us about yourself. Where have you been?'

'Oh, here and there. Nowhere in particular. But what's this about Selena? Where has she gone?'

Garrow shrugged helplessly. 'We don't know. We just got up one morning and she had packed a bag and was on her way out. She said there was something she had to do that couldn't wait. She said she would be back as soon as she could, but she didn't know how long she would be gone.'

'She didn't say where she was going or why?'

'No. She told us to look after her son, and…' Garrow frowned. 'Well she mentioned you as well. I don't know why.'

Brom's heartbeat quickened. 'What did she say?'

'She said… she said "if you see Brom again, tell him I said 'I found what I was looking for when I was in Urû'baen. Saphira's partner is a father now, and he will watch over his son'".'

He knew what that meant, knew it right away, and hiding his reaction was one of the hardest struggles of his life. 'She said that?'

'Every word,' said Garrow. 'She repeated it to me several times and made me promise to pass it on to you the moment I saw you. She looked a little… well, troubled. We couldn't keep her here, and believe me, we tried. She just walked out and got on her horse and off she went. That was a month ago, and I haven't seen her since.'

'You really have no idea where she went?' said Brom.

'Not the foggiest,' said Garrow. 'But she promised she would come back.'

_Where had she gone?_ That question chased itself around in Brom's head, refusing to leave him alone. It stayed with him for the rest of that visit, and followed him out of the house when he left. He took a brief moment to look into the cradle again, at the tiny face of Selena's son, but that was all he could do. He couldn't risk making Garrow suspicious, even though every fibre of his being wanted to reach out and take the child into his arms and speak a blessing over it as the riders of old had done. He couldn't even pause a moment to whisper his name, or to smile over him. _Eragon. Eragon, my son. _

He knew it. He would have known it even without Selena's message. The knowledge was inside him, as if it were a part of his very soul. He had given Selena the very thing she had asked for during the night they had spent together in Urû'baen, the same day Murtagh had died. Eragon. Eragon, his son. So tiny, so delicate, so perfect. And his. His son. _Eragon._

But even that knowledge, gentle and sweet as it was to him, could not make him forget the question he had asked Garrow again and again, the question that continued to torment him for the rest of that day and into the night as he lay awake, unable to sleep. Where had she gone?

The King had fallen asleep in his office again. Walden didn't find this out until he finally gave up his knocking and used a spare key to unlock the door. When he went in, he found Galbatorix slumped over the desk with his head resting on his hands. For a horrible moment Walden thought he was dead, but then he saw him stir and mumble something.

He didn't dare shake him awake, and settled for standing well back, by the door and calling him as loudly as he dared. 'Sire! Sire!'

At first his shouts got no response, but then Galbatorix suddenly stilled and then lifted his head. He was bleary-eyed and looked a little tousled and confused as he rubbed his face. 'What…? What's going on…?'

'Sorry, Sire,' said Walden. 'But I came up here to see you. Something's happened.'

Galbatorix was up and getting out of his chair almost before the words were out of Lord Walden's mouth. 'What's going on?'

'It's the Lady Selena, Sire,' said Walden. 'She's been caught.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'The Lady… where? When?'

'Just a few minutes ago, Sire,' said Walden.

'A few – you mean she was caught here?'

'Yes, Sire. Inside the castle.'

'But how?' said Galbatorix. 'What in the gods' names was she doing here?'

'She was trying to get in, Sire,' said Walden. 'She was apprehended coming in through the secret passage – the one the rebels used to get in here, Sire. The guards posted at the end of it caught her. She's been taken to the dungeons, Sire.'

A horrible gleam showed in Galbatorix's eyes. 'Have they done anything to her?'

'No, Sire, she's been left untouched as you commanded.'

'Good.' Galbatorix picked up the walking stick he had taken to using recently and headed for the door.

Walden went with him, staying at a careful distance. Three of the castle guards had already lost their jobs for violating that particular rule. 'I take it you're going to go and see her now, Sire?'

'Oh yes,' said Galbatorix, without looking around. 'After all, a Lady of her status deserves every courtesy. It would be terrible manners to keep her waiting.'

'Of course, Sire,' said Walden. Sensing his presence wouldn't be required, he stayed where he was and watched Galbatorix leave. He remembered Selena fairly well, and he had recognised the danger in the King's demeanour. He knew it didn't bode well for the "Lady" at all. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. 'For your sake, I hope you have a very good explanation indeed,' he muttered.

The guards down in the dungeons had been expecting him, and bowed low when they saw him coming. 'Sire.'

Galbatorix stopped, leaning on his stick. 'I'm told the Lady Selena is down here.'

'Yes, Sire. I'll show you to her cell.'

It was at the end of the row, not far from the place where the opening to the secret passage had been discovered. Galbatorix looked through the little barred window set into the door, which was of solid wood, and then turned to the guard who had come with him. 'The key, please.'

The guard had stayed well back and was still keeping his distance. 'I'll just leave it here for you, Sire,' he said nervously, putting the key on the ground and then backing away.

Galbatorix went over to it and picked it up. 'Thankyou. Now return to your post. No-one is to disturb us.'

'I was thinking maybe I ought to stay by the door, Sire,' said the guard. 'In case you needed me.'

Galbatorix smoothed down his robe. 'No. I will be fine. I take it she's been searched?'

'Yes, Sire. She was unarmed.'

'Good. Now off you go. And see to it that no-one comes anywhere near this cell while I'm in there.'

'Yes, Sire.'

Once the guard had gone, Galbatorix leant his stick against the wall and put the key into the lock. It turned easily enough, and the door opened with a slow creak. He entered, locking it behind him and stuffing the key into his pocket. The cell was small and sparse, like all the others, containing nothing but a simple wooden bench and a toilet jar, and a torch burning on the wall inside an iron grate that prevented its removal.

Selena was in there. She was sitting huddled in a corner, clad in a plain dress which was grubby with dirt and dust. Her face was deathly pale, and she was rigid with fear.

She didn't hear the door open, but she looked up when it closed and saw him. Her eyes went wide and petrified. 'No! No, you're dead!'

Galbatorix stepped forward until he was standing over her, silent as a shadow. 'Hello, my Lady,' he said softly.

Selena shrank back. She was starting to tremble. 'No,' she said again. 'No this isn't real. It's not you. You're dead. You're dead!'

Galbatorix sighed. 'A lot of people have been saying that lately. Would you like to get up out of that corner? It doesn't look very comfortable. Here, let me help you.' He held out a hand.

Selena stared up at him, unmoving. Her eyes looked huge in the torchlight.

Galbatorix looked back, showing not a hint of anger or hatred toward her. 'Come,' he said softly, still holding his hand out toward her. 'I'm just trying to help you. Don't you trust me?'

His gentle tone calmed her down. She reached up tentatively and he took her hand and lifted her to her feet. She tried to pull away from him, but he put his hand on her shoulder and guided her to the bench. 'Here, sit. It looks quite comfortable to me.'

Selena sat. 'I… thankyou. Sire.'

Galbatorix moved away and stood by the opposite wall, watching her. And there was no sign on his face, no hint that he knew what she had done. The only emotion he showed, the only thing she could see, was sadness. 'Well, my Lady,' he said at length. 'I'm a little surprised to see you back here. I thought you'd left for good.'

Selena clasped her hands together and tried to relax, but she avoided looking him in the face. 'I came back for my son,' she whispered.

'I thought you might have,' said Galbatorix. 'Well, you'll be pleased to know that Murtagh is well. He made a full recovery from his injury – it caused him pain for a while, but he's fine now as far as anyone can tell. Unfortunately the scar will be there forever. But scars can't kill a man. They're just memories. Actually, he's just had his fourth birthday.'

'May I see him?' said Selena.

'Oh, I don't think he'd want to come down here,' said Galbatorix. 'It's a little spooky, don't you think? But I've been teaching him not to be frightened of shadows. He's as brave as his father was. In any case… I don't think you should see him. It would be better for him.'

'But I'm his mother,' said Selena.

'Quite. You're his mother. And you left him, Selena. Why?'

'I was frightened,' Selena said in a rush. 'I was frightened of you, and Morzan. I ran away.'

'But you came back for your son.'

'Yes.'

'Well,' said Galbatorix. 'In that case, why didn't you just come in through the front door? I would have opened it for you.'

Selena said nothing.

'In fact,' said Galbatorix, 'I'm a little curious about a few things. For example – who told you about that secret passage?'

'I found it,' said Selena. 'Before what… happened.'

'Found it and used it to get out of the locked-off part of the castle undetected,' said Galbatorix. 'After you had got Idün to help you get in in the first place. Yes, Selena, I know about that. Shruikan was kind enough to tell me. Idün lifted you onto the top of the dragon roost, and after that you went inside and disappeared. In fact, you had the opportunity to come into my bedchamber.' Suddenly he was much closer. 'Could you tell me why, Selena?'

Selena started to tremble again. 'I w… I wanted… I didn't… I was…'

'You're not a very good liar, are you?' said Galbatorix. 'So I'd advise you to do what all bad liars should do: tell the truth.'

'I didn't do anything,' said Selena. 'Please, believe me, I swear I didn't do anything! I just want my son back, I want…'

'Oh, but I know why you did it,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm just trying to get you to admit it. To me and yourself. I know what you want, Selena. I know what you've wanted ever since you first came here.'

Silence.

Galbatorix took off his gloves and put them in his pocket. He rubbed his hands on his robe, cleaning the sweat off them. 'Ah, that's better. You've no idea how uncomfortable it is to wear gloves all day. Do you know…' he glanced at the ceiling. 'You know, a few months ago the people of this city rioted. They thought I was dead, you see. They'd been given the signal to take over the castle. I had to put a stop to it. Not a pleasant business, but I had to. You see, people talk about how it's their right to do whatever they please, but when they don't have someone to lead them – someone to tell them what to do, someone to see to it that order is kept – they take whatever they want, which is money, and power. That's what all people want, in the end. But you know… I don't think people ever really know what they want.' He sighed and came closer, and then sat down next to her on the bench. 'I still remember the day I became King. It was nearly a century ago by now. Ilirea had been conquered, and my friends had taken over its remains. I left them – went out into the countryside on my own, to hunt down Vrael. No-one wanted to go with me, except Shruikan. So I was alone. But we found Vrael, Shruikan and I. He was hiding at a place called One-Tree Hill. We fought him, and we won. I killed Vrael and brought his head and his sword back here. I went out, into the city – the same spot where the steps up to this castle are now. I stood there and the people gathered to see me, and I showed them Vrael's head and told them Alagaësia was free of his tyranny forever.' He smiled, a sad, almost wistful expression. 'And they cheered. You should have heard how they cheered for me. They shouted out my name. "Galbatorix, Galbatorix, Galbatorix", over and over again. They called me the Riders' Bane. They called me… liberator. And then I…' he paused and sighed, a long, weary sigh. 'I didn't want to stay. I wanted to leave the country, get away from everything that had happened here and what I had done. But my friends – Morzan especially – told me I couldn't leave. I owed the people a debt after all they had done for me. And so… and so I knelt before them, out there in the city. I knelt and bowed my head, and I said: "You have done me a great service, and I must repay you. I am yours now, to do with what you choose. Therefore, tell me what I must do. Tell me what you want from me, and I will give it to you". And there was silence. I remember the silence. And then they started to call out… started chanting. The same thing, over and over again. "King Galbatorix". King Galbatorix, Master of Alagaësia, Lord of the riders. I asked them what they wanted and they called me King. They told me what they wanted.' Galbatorix laughed softly. 'I wasn't a tyrant back then. I wasn't the Mad King. They didn't want me dead. They wanted me to lead them. And I did. For such a long time, no matter what happened, year in year out. I was theirs. But they forgot. In the end, everything was forgotten. The truth was forgotten. Suddenly I was a tyrant, suddenly I was evil. Suddenly they didn't want me any more. And when they thought I was dead, they honoured my memory by turning on their protectors and trying to destroy my Empire. Once I would have left. If I thought the people didn't want me any more. But I know I must stay. For their sake. Because without me there would…' Galbatorix sighed and rubbed his eyes. 'The will and the whim,' he said strangely. 'I know what they want. And I know…' he turned to look Selena in the eye. 'I know what you want, Selena.'

'I want my son,' Selena said again. 'Please, Sire, give him back to me.'

'No,' said Galbatorix. 'You didn't just come back here for that. You came back here for me. When you thought I might still be alive, you came back to Urû'baen. Because you were looking for me.'

'No,' said Selena. 'I wasn't. I didn't know…'

'Don't lie,' Galbatorix said coldly. 'You lust after me. I can see it all over your face. You've lusted after me since the first time we met.'

'No,' Selena whispered. But there was no conviction in her voice.

'You dream about me,' Galbatorix went on, his voice full of horrible certainty, as if he could see into her mind. As if he _knew._ 'You don't want to. You feel sullied and guilty, but you can't help it. You came into my room that night because you were hoping to find me there. One attempt to seduce me wasn't enough. You had to try again. You wanted to bed me. And maybe even become my Queen. That's what you wanted. That's what you still want.'

Selena wanted to say no. She wanted to shout, no. She wanted to pull away from him. She wanted to say no. But she said nothing. She didn't move. She stayed there, exquisitely close to him, hypnotised by his eyes and voice. He was so beautiful. So powerful.

Her silence was all the answer he needed. 'Do you know what I want?' he said.

'No,' Selena whispered.

'It's not power,' said Galbatorix. 'It's not riches. It never was. I fought a war because I wanted the right to live with who and what I was, without being persecuted. I wanted to be myself and never be ashamed of it. But the world wouldn't let me. Because I am not human. I am a half-breed. And when the world found out, my life became worthless. That is why I destroyed the riders. For myself, and for everyone else they had condemned as they had condemned me. But I wanted… I still want…' he was silent for a time, as if he were struggling with himself.

Without even thinking, Selena put her hand on his arm. 'Tell me,' she said.

Galbatorix looked up. 'I want to be loved,' he said quietly, almost folornly. 'Is that so terrible? I'm so tired of being hated. I'm so tired of looking in the mirror and wishing there were another face there, any other face but this one. I don't want to be King. I want to be loved. But I know I never will be. And you…' the vulnerability in his voice vanished abruptly, and his eyes became cold once more. 'And you have betrayed me, Selena Violetsdaughter. Like so many others before you.'

Selena shrank away from him. 'No,' she said. 'I haven't. I just w-,'

Galbatorix came closer, so close they were almost touching. 'But I am going to give you want you wanted now, Selena. I am going to give you everything you longed for.' He reached out and touched her face. His hand was cool and delicate. And Selena did not pull away. 'You wanted me inside you,' Galbatorix whispered. 'You wanted me. So have me. Now. All of me.'

She came closer to him, little by little, her heart suddenly pounding, and then… and then she was kissing him. And he kissed her back. His kiss was not cold or bitter, as it had been in her dreams, but warm and wonderful and passionate, and she knew then, knew it was true, knew it was real. It was in that instant that she saw something else, beyond his coldness and his eccentricity and his cruelty. In that moment, when their lips met, she saw the man beyond that. Saw something pure and passionate and courageous, and… beautiful.

Galbatorix did not resist. He continued to kiss her, his hands running through her hair, pulling her toward him and holding her to his chest. Selena found the fastenings on the front of his robe and undid them, and then her hands slid inside and touched his skin. It was thin and ravaged with scars, and there was a wetness there too. Like sweat. But before she could fully register this, Galbatorix took hold of the front of her dress and pulled it open, and then pressed his body against hers, skin to skin. Selena forgot her moment of doubt and continued to kiss him, on the neck now and down onto his chest. He had his eyes closed, she realised briefly. And as he put his hands inside her dress and ran them down her back he whispered a name. Not hers. 'Skade. Skade… my Skade…'

Selena didn't care. She reached down and started to undo his belt. And then…

And then, quite suddenly, without warning or hesitation, he thrust himself inside her. He did it hard and violently, and pain exploded through her. Selena screamed, or started to, but he muffled it with his hand, and she lay helplessly as the pain continued to ravage her.

But it was not pain in her groin. It was in her head.

Selena went rigid, every muscle in her body tensing, as her mind opened up and then… and then did not belong to her any more. Suddenly there was nothing in there but him. His presence filled her consciousness, hot and dark and powerful beyond belief. He was inside her. She could sense him with every part of her body. And there were memories, too. Little snatches of memory. His memories. A man and a woman sitting by a fire, smiling. A white dragon's egg, cracks spreading over its shell. And snow. White snow, cold snow. Snow turning red with blood. Frozen tears and blood on the snow. And a scream that went on and on without end.

But these memories passed in the fraction of a second, and then there was nothing but her own. She could feel him moving through them, pulling them out of her mind one by one and taking them for his own. Brom, whispering to her, Brom kissing her, Brom telling her his story and sending her to the castle. The King's darkened bedroom, and the chest opening, and the blue egg cradled in her arms as she ran away out through the secret passage and into the city. The rebels in their hiding place, welcoming her, and Brom as she had last seen him, entering the secret passage and disappearing. And there was nothing she could do, no way she could hide it from him, no way to stop herself betraying them all. He found it, every word every face, every name, everything. He found Carvahall, and her newborn son. _Brom's son._ He found her dark dreams.

When he was done he pulled out of her, and then she was lying on the bench, sobbing, her dress still torn open. Galbatorix was there, breathing hard as he got off the bench. He reached down and roughly pulled her dress back over her, covering her exposed breasts.

'Sorry,' he said, with a disgusted expression. 'But you're not my type.'

Selena tried to get up, but her limbs were full of terrible weakness. She started to cry.

Galbatorix refastened the front of his robe. As he did so, she caught a glimpse of something on his chest. It was a sore; raw and bleeding and purple.

The King took his gloves out of his pocket and put them back on, and then flattened his hair with one hand. 'Your son will be cared for,' he said dispassionately. 'You have my word for that. And the other one will be left unmolested as long as he does nothing to give me a reason for it. And I won't tell Murtagh what kind of person his mother was. He doesn't deserve to hear the whole truth. Bad enough that he'll grow up hating his father without hating his mother as well. And…' he sneered at her. 'I'll see to it that you're decently buried. For the time being… goodbye, my Lady.'

He unlocked the cell door and left, locking it securely behind him. There he leaned against the wall of the corridor and tried to make himself breathe calmly. His heart was pounding, and the sores on his chest hurt. He coughed a few times, and shuddered. Shame and disgust burnt inside him. He had nearly lost control. He had nearly…

'No,' he rasped to himself. 'No. I knew what I was doing. It wasn't… I wouldn't have… never. Never ever. My promise is kept, Skade, I swear it is. I swear.'

But his feeling of shame wouldn't leave him. He sighed and picked up his walking stick. Nothing left here to do.

The guards at the end of the corridor moved well back to let him through. He put the key on a nearby table for them. 'No-one is to go into the Lady Selena's cell,' he told them. 'I have finished questioning her, and there's nothing more she can tell me. She must be kept isolated for the safety of everyone in the castle. I mean it.'

'Why is that, Sire?' one guard ventured.

Galbatorix shrugged. 'The poor girl has the plague,' he said. 'Firepox. It's incurable. Unfortunately.'


	32. Hopeless Hope

Chapter Thirty-Two

Hopeless Hope

The King was alive.

In the end, everyone in the Empire knew it.

Brom knew it, as he sat in the sun outside Carvahall's tavern and watched Marian walk past with her son and nephew toddling along beside her. Eragon had his mother's eyes already, and was the loudest and most wilful of the two. Brom's gaze lingered on him as he passed, and he sighed and downed a mug of ale. One day, maybe, he would tell him the truth. Until then, best to keep quiet. The village had been visited twice by Imperial soldiers. They had questioned everyone thoroughly, and searched several houses. They were looking for something. Brom had arranged to be out on hunting trips whenever they came, and the villagers gave little away. They didn't trust the Empire. For now, it seemed he was safe.

Islanzadí knew it as she stood by the trunk of the Menoa tree, overseeing her people's return to their old home. Elvish magic was being woven around Du Weldenvarden and had been for some years now. It would prevent anyone entering its borders undetected. If the King ever decided to try and invade, he would have a hard struggle on his hands.

Durza knew it. He had gathered together as many urgal warriors as he could. They had been willing enough to assist the Empire that sheltered them, but the Shade had put them under mind control anyway. He didn't trust them to do as they were told. Conventional leadership wasn't for him, anyway. He had known what was going on for some time. He'd kept well away from human beings for quite some time, preferring to spend his days in the wilderness instead. Human beings bored and irritated him. They were so emotional and slow-witted. They didn't understand the true workings of magic, or the true sanctity of power, not as he did. And there were no other Shades left in Alagaësia, not since Rangda had left. He still missed her, from time to time, but he knew she would come back. Shades had little concept of impatience. He could wait.

He could wait for many things. But now he knew with certainty that much of his waiting would soon be over. Now that the Forsworn were all dead, and the King was alone. Now that the Empire was becoming unstable. Peacetime was not a time for him. Manipulation was so much easier when people were frightened or anxious. It was time for him to return. Soon the opportunity would arise for him to act. Soon his time would come.

The Varden knew it. The uprising had failed. The Imperial army, shored up by hundreds of new recruits, had crushed all those who had risen up and attempted to take control of the country. Hundreds of people were killed in skirmishes with them, and others were arrested and executed. It sent fear through the entire population. Many blamed the Varden for inciting the rebellion in the first place. But others blamed the Empire.

The Varden had no choice now but to go into hiding once more, and they did; withdrawing all their members into the city of Farthen Dûr. The Empire still believed it had been abandoned, and it was far enough from its borders to avoid much scrutiny. If they were careful, they could remain undetected for a time. All they could do was continue to bring in as many new members as they could, and bide their time. A new leader would arise. They would find a way.

And Murtagh knew it, of course.

The King was a constant presence in his life – not necessarily a part of his life, but a background to it. He was always there in the castle, not often seen but always there. Murtagh saw him from time to time – a gaunt, pale-faced man who looked neither old nor young, who walked slowly and muttered to himself, but who everyone in the castle and the Empire feared. Sometimes Murtagh would turn and see him standing there, watching him in silence. The moment Murtagh saw him he would pull back and disappear into a shadow, as if he had never been there at all. No-one else seemed to notice. But the King rarely spoke to him. From time to time he would stop and ask him a few questions – how he was, if he was enjoying his lessons and whether there was anything he wanted. Murtagh answered briefly but courteously, too nervous of him to ask any questions in return. But, then, no-one really spoke to him. Only Lord Walden, and then not for very long. Murtagh never saw him smile. Not once. Not even a little. People said he didn't know how.

On his seventh birthday the King came to visit him. He didn't stay long. But he leaned on his walking-stick and put a long parcel into Murtagh's hands, saying; 'Here. This is for you. Take good care of it.'

When Murtagh unwrapped it, he found a sword inside. Not a toy wooden sword but a fine steel hand-and-a-half sword, with a plain hilt and a leather scabbard. It was undecorated, but the blade was sharp.

'I have arranged for you to have lessons,' the King said. 'Tornac, the master-at-arms, will teach you how to use it. But be careful. It's not a toy. One day it could save your life.'

'Thankyou,' said Murtagh.

The King nodded to him and left, limping slightly. Murtagh watched him go, holding the sword in both hands. It was heavy.

Arya knew it. Her mother had protested, and the two of them had argued, but the duty was hers. She wanted it to be. She had offered to be the courier for the egg the Varden had captured. From now on it would be her duty to travel back and forth from Ellesméra to Du Weldenvarden with her precious cargo, so that children in both places could touch it. One day, maybe, it would hatch. And when that day came, it would spell the end of the Empire forever. She knew it would be. It was fate.

The King was not dead.

Galbatorix knew it, vaguely. Or thought he knew it. He supposed he was still King. He still ruled, after a fashion. But it wasn't the same as it had been before. Now it seemed that there was nothing but trouble. The Varden remained active and refused to be cowed, continuing to stage raids on Imperial strongholds. Surda was refusing to help its neighbour, but there was little point in invading it. He didn't have the generals for it. Every year he would let young people into the castle, to handle the two remaining eggs, the red one and the green one. Neither one would hatch. He didn't really expect them to. Not now. Perhaps they were dead by now. Just like everyone else.

He knew people thought he was mad. They had always thought it. But he didn't care. He didn't really care about anything much any more. Even eating felt pointless. And talking. Sometimes he didn't feel like speaking for days at a time. Sometimes he couldn't. The disease had continued to ravage his lungs, and sometimes he forgot to heal it. He had almost stopped noticing the pain of it by now. When the fever came he would lock himself in his room and cast a silencing spell so his ravings would go unheard.

He could feel his mind starting to unravel. Most of the time he was lucid enough. He still knew what was going on, he still knew how to rule. But sometimes the sickness would affect his judgement, and he knew he was making bad decisions. But he couldn't seem to remember a lot of them now. There was always something else to worry about.

It wasn't that he was mad, he knew. It wasn't that. He wasn't mad. He had never been mad, not since before the war, and that had passed. No, he was well enough, most of the time. It wasn't that he was mad. It was just that everything felt so different now. There was no flavour in anything. No interest. No point. He felt so tired, and it wouldn't leave him alone. His memories weighed down on him like a huge stone block, and they exhausted him. He felt barely alive.

Sometimes he would go down into the crypts, to visit the tombs of the others. They were always there, waiting, and he would talk to them sometimes. There were only two tombs left open now. One was Brom's. One was his own. But he knew he would never be buried in there. That tomb wasn't for him. It had been built for someone else, and that someone had died a very long time ago and been left without a resting-place. Some things could never be buried. And other things never should be.

'Sire? Sire?'

Someone always wanted something. He stared blankly at the person in front of him. 'Hm? What? Lord Walden?'

'Uh… Lord Walden is dead, Sire. I'm Lord Dirke.'

'Oh. Yes. Sorry. What is it?'

'We've had contact from Durza, Sire,' said Lord Dirke. 'He says he caught up with the Varden member carrying the egg. She's been captured, but the egg was lost. Durza doesn't know where she sent it, but he's having her interrogated for the information.'

Galbatorix listened. His heart had beat faster at the mention of the egg. 'So they still have it. When was this?'

'A month or so ago, Sire.'

'And where is Durza now?'

'He's in Gil'ead, Sire.'

Galbatorix stood up. 'Well you send him a message back from me. Tell him I said to come back here and bring the prisoner with him. I'll question her myself. Now…' he sighed. 'I'm tired and I'm going to go and get some rest. No-one is to disturb me unless it's vital.'

'Yes, Sire.'

Galbatorix picked up his walking stick and left. He hated having to support himself with a stick like this, but it was necessary. He was too unsteady on his legs now, and he needed it to catch himself if he started to fall. He made mental contact with Shruikan. _'I've just had word from Durza. The egg the Varden stole has been lost. They don't know where it is.'_

'_That could be a good thing,'_ said Shruikan. _'If it's out of their hands.'_

'_Yes… perhaps.'_ Galbatorix shared a feeling of wry amusement. _'At least if it wouldn't hatch for me it won't hatch for them either.'_ He reached his bedroom and locked himself in. Then he took off his robe and boots, and changed the bandages on his chest yet again. They had been soiled when his concentration had lapsed and the sores had briefly reopened an hour or so ago. He threw the old bandages into the fireplace, drank another dose of potion and then sagged into his hammock. His back ached, and his throat hurt. _Old,_ his mind whispered. _You're old. Old, old, old. Last rider. The last…_

He sighed and drifted into sleep.

And he dreamed.

It was a dream unlike any he had had in a very long time. Not since before the others had died, years ago, before he was the last rider.

He found himself standing alone, somewhere in a shadowy wood full of whispers and warnings. There was a hint of ice in the air, and he could hear wolves howling somewhere. But he wasn't afraid. He knew about darkness, and he slipped away into the trees, melting in and out of the shadows as he had done so many times before. Searching.

But as he walked on, the silence and the dark were disturbed. A huge flash of light split the night apart, and he yelled and staggered backward. The light died away slowly and he dared to venture forward again and found a large crater in the ground. Smoke was rising gently from it. And there, in the middle of it, was a big blue stone with a perfectly smooth surface. No. Not a stone. An egg.

Galbatorix stepped forward to claim it, but he was too late. Someone else was already there. It was a boy, a little shorter than him, clad in rough peasant's clothes. There was a bow in his hand and an expression of bewilderment on his face as he entered the crater and knelt to peer at the egg. He touched it carefully, feeling its smooth surface, and then he picked it up and walked away, carrying it with him. Galbatorix followed, unseen.

Then it was later, in a darkened room. The egg was lying in a corner, touched by a shaft of moonlight. Then it began to move. Galbatorix, standing silently in a corner, heard a faint squeak come from inside it. Then another, and others, louder and louder. The noise woke the boy. He sat up, cursing, and went to investigate. The egg was moving. Its shell started to crack, and Galbatorix's breath caught in his throat.

Then, as he and the boy watched, mesmerised, the egg broke open. The dragon hatchling emerged, its scales the same bright blue as its shell, gasping for breath. Small and perfect, and writhing with life. The boy sat back, staring at it in bewilderment.

_Touch it,_ Galbatorix whispered. _Touch it!_

As if he had heard him, the boy reached out. He and the dragon made contact, and then…

Galbatorix woke up with a start and fell sideways out of his hammock. He lay on the floor, his back aching, completely bewildered.

'_Galbatorix, what happened?'_ Shruikan's voice intruded. _'Did you have another nightmare?'_

The black dragon's presence recalled Galbatorix to his senses. He got up as fast as he could and staggered over to the table. There was a bowl of water there, left for him to splash his face when he woke up in the morning. Bottles of potion were lined up next to it. He snatched one up and drank, so fast he nearly inhaled some of it. Coughing irritably, he put the bottle aside and pulled the bowl of water toward him. It was nighttime by now, and the moon was shining in through the window. Perfect.

Ignoring Shruikan, he spread his hand over the water. '_Draumr kópa._'

The magic went to work, and the water turned black and empty. Concentrating as hard as he could on keeping the spell working, Galbatorix reached out to touch it with his mind. _Show me the boy,_ he commanded. _Show me the boy with the dragon. _

Nothing happened, but he kept on trying, pitting all his strength against the empty water, willing it to show him what he had seen in his dream. _Only show him to me. Please, let me see him. Show me it was real._

And then, slowly, very slowly, a point of light formed in the middle of the water. It expanded gradually, forming itself into the wavering image of a peasant boy with light-brown hair. He was curled up on an invisible bed, sound asleep. Curled up on the blankets beside him was an animal. A dragon hatchling, with bright blue scales. It too was asleep, but as the boy shifted slightly his right hand, lying by his head, uncurled. On the palm was a perfect silver oval. A gedwëy ignaesia. A rider's mark.

As Galbatorix watched, his heart beating so slowly he might have been dead, he felt a slow, unbelieving grin start to spread itself over his face. The spell died abruptly as the last of his magic was used up, and the image vanished. But he didn't care. He could still see it, inside his head, as bright and vivid as if it were right in front of him.

He made his way to the chair and sat down, his hands resting on the desktop in front of him. When he turned the right one over, the silver oval on the palm shone faintly in the moonlight.

Galbatorix started to laugh.

Murtagh woke up early, and rolled over in bed. His back was hurting him again. It tended to ache sometimes, on cold nights. On those nights he would dream of his father. He didn't really remember the day the scar had been inflicted on him, or even whether it had been a day or a night. But he knew that he did remember it somewhere deep down. When he woke up sweating and terrified, he would know that he had remembered it in his sleep.

Beside him, Allison mumbled something and turned over. Murtagh lay still, not wanting to disturb her. Her blonde hair was spread over the pillow, and he touched it lightly and smiled to himself. Most of the castle knew that he'd been sharing his bed with her, but none of them particularly cared. He was still unmarried, in spite of the fact that there were plenty of young noblewomen interested in him – and not just because he was the heir to the governorship of Gil'ead. He'd always had a gift with women, and he rather enjoyed it, if he was honest with himself.

After lying awake for some time, he decided he wasn't going to get any more sleep today and slipped out of bed as quietly as he could. Allison woke up while he was putting on his tunic. She smiled at him. 'Good morning, my Lord.'

Murtagh adjusted the hang of his tunic. 'I didn't wake you up, did I?'

Allison slid out of bed and picked up her discarded dress. 'No, it was time I got up anyway. I've got work to do.' She dressed quickly and then embraced him briefly and kissed him on the cheek. 'I'll see you again tonight,' she said softly.

Murtagh caressed her shoulder, but said nothing as she left. Once she had gone, he sighed and picked up his boots. Once he'd done up the laces, he opened a chest and pulled out his sword. He'd taken good care of it over the years; the fine steel blade was sharpened and polished, and he kept it well-oiled.

Murtagh strapped it on and left for the training-yard. Guards went there to practise, and those of the nobility who took an interest in weapons sometimes came to indulge in a little archery and sword-practise. Most of them did it only erratically – few of the country's nobles were truly interested in warfare and preferred to deal in politics and other matters which Murtagh found tedious. There wasn't much that a young noble like himself was expected to do, and he spent a great deal of his time in the training-yard with Tornac, the master-at-arms, honing his skills.

The yard was abandoned this morning. Murtagh went to his usual spot at the centre and drew his sword. He balanced himself carefully, holding the weapon in both hands, but before he began he glanced over his shoulder. A window overlooked the yard just behind him; large and square-paned and more or less unremarkable. But whenever Murtagh came into the yard he would automatically look toward it. Once or twice, just briefly, he had caught a glimpse of a face on the other side of it. Pale, thin and bearded, the eyes always turned toward him. Watching.

The window was deserted today, and Murtagh didn't realise he had been tense until he felt himself relax. He turned away and began to swing his sword. He moved it with powerful, confident strokes, not lashing out wildly, moving with the grace and ease of a born swordsman who had been trained in the art since childhood. He went through the gentle exercises Tornac had taught him to help him limber up, careful lest he disturb the scar on his back. The pain did not worsen, and once he was satisfied that it would not bother him again he slid easily into the proper routine – practising blows and blocks against an invisible enemy, feeling the weight of the sword in his hands. His control over it was absolute. It wasn't true swordplay, not without a sparring partner, but he didn't care. He did this most mornings. It helped him relax and stay in good health, and besides, he liked the feel of the sword in his hands. It was one of the few times he ever felt completely safe and in control.

He practised like this for some time, and once he had grown bored with that he fetched a bow and some arrows and whiled away the rest of the morning at the archery butts.

The sun was high overhead when he stopped for a rest. Noon, he thought, glancing up. His stomach was growling, and he decided it was time to go inside and have something to eat. As he was pulling the arrows out of the butt, a door leading into the castle opened and a servant came out.

'Lord Murtagh?'

Murtagh turned, holding a pair of arrows. 'Oh, hello, Rose. What is it?'

Rose was looking slightly flustered. 'The King has sent for you,' she said.

Murtagh went cold all over. 'The King? Why?'

'He said he would like to invite you to have lunch with him, my Lord,' Rose explained.

'So he's talking today?'

'Oh yes. He said he had important matters to discuss with you.'

Murtagh realised his heart was pounding. Irrational fear was flooding into his chest. Why would the King want to see him? He began a frantic internal search, trying to think of something he might have done that would have made the King angry with him.

Rose must have seen the fear on his face, because she said; 'I don't think you're in trouble, if you don't mind my saying so, my Lord. The King seemed to be in quite a good mood when I saw him.'

That didn't do much to calm Murtagh down, but he turned and wrenched the last of the arrows out and stuffed them back into their quiver. 'All right. When do I have to be there?'

'As soon as possible, my Lord,' said Rose. 'I would have warned you sooner, but I couldn't find you. Lunch is being served as we speak, and the King is waiting for you in the dining hall.'

Murtagh swore and ran out of the training-yard without waiting to put away the rest of the equipment. He took the stairs two at a time to his room, and kicked the door open. His mind raced as he stripped off his clothes and put on his best outfit as fast as he could, fumbling with sleeves and buckles. The King was mad, everyone knew that. He couldn't remember ever having spoken to him directly, but he had seen him plenty of times, at a distance. He knew that the King had been watching him, and though he didn't know why it had always made him afraid of him. He had always had the feeling, every time he had caught a glimpse of the King's dark, stooped figure vanishing into a shadow, that his future was already being planned for him. The King wanted him for something, but what that might be he didn't know. But he _did_ know that the King disliked the nobility and always had, and that from time to time he would make strange requests or give orders that didn't make any sense – trying to send armies to engage the Varden even though their hideout had yet to be discovered, dictating messages to people who had been dead for years, or forgetting who he was talking to in the middle of a conversation. And there were plenty of accounts of the time he had fallen asleep in the middle of a meeting and gone into an appalling rage upon being woken up, which had driven the entire council out of the room. And he would lock himself in his room for days at a time and refuse to come out or even speak to anyone, and the guards who kept people away from the door sometimes talked about seeing strange lights flickering from underneath it – magical lights, no doubt, from some terrible ritual the King was performing in private. And while nearly every unmarried noble – and plenty of married ones – would occasionally have a special (and generally pretty) visitor to their bedchamber, no-one had ever slept in the King's room other than the King. Sometimes Murtagh found himself treacherously wondering whether he was even sane enough to remember what his manhood was for.

And now the King wanted to see him.

Murtagh finished lacing up the front of his best tunic, paused to drag a comb through his hair, and left for the dining hall at as close to a run as he dared. He slowed down to a more dignified walk as he turned the corner, and found two guards stationed at the door into the dining hall. They opened the doors and stood aside to let him pass when they saw him, muttering respectfully.

Murtagh paused for a moment in the doorway to take a deep, steadying breath, and then went in.

The dining hall was well-lit by a row of blue-glass lamps, and dishes of bread, meat and fruit had been laid on the table along with a jug of some kind of drink – probably wine. There were no decorations; everything was plain and bare. But everyone knew that the King had very little interest in luxury. There were plenty of chairs around the long table, but only one – the large, well-carved one at the head of the table – was occupied. Murtagh recognised the black-clad figure immediately.

The doors closed behind him, and he started involuntarily at the sound.

'Ah, Murtagh. Please, come and join me.'

Murtagh came forward very slowly. A chair had been pulled out for him, and he sat on it, not taking his eyes off Galbatorix. 'Sire… it's an honour. I'm sorry I kept you waiting.'

'Oh, don't worry, I survived,' said Galbatorix, waving a hand dismissively. His voice was low and hoarse – even a little guttural. If he was indeed feeling cheerful today he didn't give any visible sign of it – his face was expressionless and his eyes, turned searchingly toward Murtagh's face, had nothing in them but cold curiosity. Murtagh became uncomfortable very quickly, but a few moments later the King turned away. 'Have something to eat. No need to stand on ceremony.'

Murtagh helped himself to some mutton and an apple and ate it as politely as he could. He could feel himself sweating.

Galbatorix ate nothing, but drank deeply from his cup. Murtagh, risking a glance at him, realised that it contained nothing but water. He turned away quickly and ate some more – even his fear couldn't quite kill his appetite.

Galbatorix watched him all the while, eerily silent and attentive. 'I take it you're satisfied with everything?' he said eventually, breaking the tense silence.

Murtagh put down the piece of bread he was eating. 'It's good, Sire,' he said.

Galbatorix nodded. 'Excellent. Please forgive me for not joining you, but I don't have much of an appetite today. Eat all you want, take your time. I'm in no hurry.'

That sounded like a veiled command for him to hurry up. Murtagh drank a mouthful of wine and then put his cup aside. 'I've… I have eaten enough for now, Sire.'

'Good.' Galbatorix emptied his cup of water and then breathed deeply, his hands resting on the tabletop in front of him. Murtagh noticed that he was wearing gloves, and wondered why. Maybe he was feeling cold. Actually, he realised, the King didn't look very healthy. He was pale – paler than anyone else he had ever seen, as if he hadn't been out in the sun for a very long time. He was thin, too – unpleasantly so – but somehow, as Murtagh looked at him, he did not think that the King looked weak. There was something about him – something iron-hard, something cold and burning and eternal, as if he were made from stone rather than flesh.

Murtagh said nothing, but waited respectfully for the King to speak.

Galbatorix, apparently having gathered his thoughts, said; 'So, Murtagh. I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but your father appointed me as your guardian before he died.'

'I am aware of that, Sire,' said Murtagh. 'And I'm grateful,' he added hastily, 'For all you've done for me, Sire.'

'I merely did my duty as a friend to your father,' said Galbatorix. 'And I'm sorry for that.'

Murtagh was puzzled. 'I'm sorry, Sire?'

'No, _I'm_ sorry,' said Galbatorix. 'For only doing my duty. I should have tried to be a true father to you instead of keeping my distance as I did, but unfortunately… well, let us simply say that circumstances prevented me. But I have kept an eye on you over the years as best I could, and talked to your guardians and your tutors. You've grown into a fine young man, Murtagh, and I think your father would have been proud of you.'

'Thankyou, Sire,' said Murtagh.

'How old are you now, Murtagh? Fifteen? Sixteen?'

'Eighteen, Sire,' said Murtagh.

'Eighteen?' said Galbatorix. 'Is that so?' he sighed. 'Time flies, even when one has as much of it as I do. Well, then, Murtagh, so you're a well-grown young man of eighteen by now, which I understand would make you old enough to inherit your father's position as governor of Gil'ead.'

'Yes, Sire.'

'In fact,' Galbatorix went on, 'I'm told that you were informed of this and were given the opportunity to take up that responsibility but that you refused. Is that true?'

'Yes, Sire.'

'May I ask why?'

'I…' Murtagh tried not to look the King in the eye. 'I did not feel that I was worthy of it, Sire.'

'I became King of Alagaësia before I turned thirty,' said Galbatorix. 'Did you know that?'

'No, Sire.'

'I was crowned at twenty-five, which means that, by now, I am one hundred and twenty-five years old and have spent one hundred of those years ruling this country. I did not want to spend the rest of an immortal life as King, but I took up my responsibility regardless,' said Galbatorix. 'You feel that you are somehow incapable of ruling just a tiny portion of an entire Empire?'

'I… I am not you, Sire,' said Murtagh.

'No, I suppose you aren't,' said Galbatorix, apparently mollified. 'And the governorship is yours to take or refuse as you see fit. However, you cannot spend the rest of your life doing nothing. I saw to it that you had the finest education and training in the arts of warfare, and by now you are more than fit to be a Lord or a general. Have you considered, perhaps, a military life?'

'Yes, Sire,' said Murtagh.

'Well, then, I see no reason why you could not command the Imperial army,' said Galbatorix. 'The post is yours if you want it. Because I trust you, Murtagh. As I trusted your father.'

That took Murtagh by surprise. 'Thankyou, Sire.'

'You have every reason to be grateful,' said Galbatorix, with a touch of menace. 'Very few people have my trust, but you do. I have found that very few people in this world are truly trustworthy. I hope that you will not disappoint me.'

'I will try not to, Sire.'

'Good.' Galbatorix coughed several times, and seemed to have trouble drawing breath for a few moments. 'Now… then,' he said, gasping a little. 'Now…'

'Yes, Sire?'

Galbatorix appeared to pull himself together. 'Because I trust you, Murtagh, I am going to confide in you now. This is something I have not told anyone else except for Shruikan, and I expect you to treat it as an absolute secret until I give you permission to do otherwise.'

Murtagh's heart beat faster. 'I understand, Sire.'

'A new rider has come,' said Galbatorix.

Murtagh stared at him. 'I'm sorry, Sire?'

'A dragon has hatched,' said Galbatorix. 'The egg that the Varden stole fell into the hands of a peasant boy, and it hatched for him. He is now a rider, like myself, and with the proper training he could grow to be immeasurably powerful.'

Murtagh gaped at him. 'A new rider…'

'Yes.' For the first time, the hint of a smile showed on the King's face. 'A new rider has come, when I thought I was the last. There is hope that our order can survive now. You see…' he sighed, and his gaze took on a distant look. 'Alagaësia wasn't always the way it is now. Once it was a land of dragons and dragon-riders. When the riders ruled here… there was a city here, once, long ago. It was called Ilirea. It was an elvish city. A riders' city, really. It had six white towers, each one shaped like a dragon's horn – six for a six-horned dragon, you see; they called them "royal" dragons. I remember standing on a balcony at the top of the tallest tower, the elders' tower, where Vrael himself lived. I could see out over the whole city. It was beautiful. White stone, shaped by magic, without a single join in it anywhere. And the sky was full of dragons. Blue, red, green, brown, yellow, orange, purple, grey… dozens of them. Their scales were like jewels in the sun, and I could hear them calling to each other. They were magnificent creatures. And every single one had a rider. Elvish or human – each one with a sword to match the scales of their dragon. Dragon riders…' his voice had deepened as he spoke, becoming rich with longing. 'Neither elvish nor human, but another kind of being altogether. They had magic that could change the world. Some of them were hundreds of years old. They were the greatest race ever to exist in the world.' He sighed and appeared to wake up in some way as he said; 'But those days came to an end, of course.'

Murtagh was silent. He sensed that the King didn't want to be interrupted.

'You see,' said Galbatorix, 'Nothing truly lasts forever. As an immortal, I have lived far longer than any other human ever could, and I have seen how much the world can change in a mere ten years – let alone a hundred. No… the riders all died, one way or another. By the time the war ended there were only seven of us left, myself included. Tranah, Tuomas, Orwyne, Ana, Vander and Morzan. Your father, Murtagh. The horrors we survived changed us all. And I… as their leader, I knew that it was my duty to do as riders have always done and lead my people. We all knew it. But one by one the others died – some murdered by the Varden, and others driven to suicide. Until at last I was the only one left. I have spent so many long years living here alone, with no-one left who remembers those times except for Shruikan. And none of the three surviving eggs would hatch. I came to believe that I would be the last rider forever, and that when I died it would mean the end of us… the end of hope.'

No. Hope left this country a long time ago, Murtagh thought. You could never bring it back, Sire.

'But,' said Galbatorix, 'But I was wrong, Murtagh. And by the moonlight I've never been more glad to be wrong in my whole life.' He leaned forward over the table, his look urgent. 'The riders are coming back, Murtagh. The egg has hatched, the bond has been formed, a new rider has come. And there will be others. I know there will. The magic has not gone, and the old order is being reborn. I do not know this new rider's name, or where he lives, but I know he exists. Now the time has come for us to act.'

'You mean to find this new rider, Sire?' said Murtagh.

'Indeed.' Galbatorix sat back and nodded briefly. 'He must be found, and he must be brought here. I must find him and summon him to Urû'baen, so that we can meet. It is my duty now to train this new rider, and it is his duty to swear loyalty to me. For the order to be reborn, he and I must work together. A rogue rider would cause havoc. And…' the hint of excitement in his voice vanished abruptly, and his face became hard with rage. 'If this new rider joins the Varden… if they find him before I do… if those rebels have a rider on their side, they will challenge me openly. And I'm not interested in being challenged.'

'Do you want me to look for him, Sire?' Murtagh guessed.

'Yes, among other things,' said Galbatorix. 'The…' he paused suddenly, squinting at him. 'The…' he rubbed his eyes. 'I have a task for you,' he said at last. 'Something to test you. You've done enough of… you've spent enough time here, doing as you please. Now it's time for you to do as your father would have, and prove your worthiness to me. Are you willing to do this, Murtagh?'

'Yes, Sire,' said Murtagh. 'Sire?'

Galbatorix squinted at him again, blinking hard to try and keep him in focus. He could feel a heaviness in his limbs, and knew that he was starting to lose his grip on what was going on. Tiredness lay over his mind like a grey blanket, and his vision kept going in and out of focus. He breathed in deeply and tried to control himself. 'There is a village to the East that has been presenting some difficulties,' he said. 'The inhabitants have begun assaulting Imperial soldiers, and many are openly refusing to pay their taxes. Others are leaving to join the Varden. I have been patient with them for long enough, but now they have gone too far. I want you to go there, Murtagh. Take a small force with you, and show these people that I am not to be trifled with.'

He managed to end the sentence and then sat back in his chair. His breath was becoming more and more laboured, and his chest was one burning itch. It was all he could do not to scratch it openly, but he knew that doing so would make it hurt. He needed to heal it, but he couldn't let Murtagh see him do it. He would have to wait until he was alone. But… was he alone? There was still a wavering image of a person in front of him – that was Murtagh, wasn't it? It was someone. He couldn't quite make out their face. And… he blinked and rubbed his eyes. There were other people there too. They kept sliding in and out of his field of vision.

He became vaguely aware that someone had spoken. 'What?'

Murtagh's voice sounded like it was coming through several layers of cloth. '…want me to do, Sire?'

Galbatorix took several seconds to remember what he was talking about. 'I want this village made an example of,' he managed. 'They must see that there is no profit in rebelling against their protectors. Therefore… I want you to kill them. All of them. Down to the last man. Burn the houses and leave the bodies for the crows. Is that understood?'

There was silence. Or, at least, he thought it was silence for a moment. But then, as he watched Murtagh closely, waiting for his response, his vision cleared and he saw them. They were all there, seated around the table, filling the room with their presence. Twelve of them. They were talking. _…must show the people that we-_

_-lead them, duty-_

_-how can you be so unfeeling?_

'But how can we be sure that they are all Varden supporters?' said Murtagh, his voice cutting across theirs.

Galbatorix slammed his fist down on the table, so hard it broke a dish in half. 'I – am – the King!' he roared, trying to down the voices out. '_I_ rule here, my word is law, and if those ungrateful sons of whores think they have the right to disrupt the peace because they don't like that, they can bloody well leave the country. But if they even _consider _going into open war with me, I'll burn the lot of them alive and bury their ashes in a dung heap.' He broke off, breathing harshly, his eyes burning.

'But they're your people, Sire,' Murtagh dared to say.

Galbatorix groaned and massaged his forehead. 'Dammit, Morzan, you know I have to do this. I can't afford to be soft on my enemies. Remember what happened with the elves. Remember Flell.'

'I… I'm not Morzan, Sire,' said Murtagh.

Galbatorix stared blankly at him. 'Oh. Yes. Right.' He tried to concentrate, but it was impossible. The room around him was melting away, its grey stone turning to pure white, and huge shapes loomed out of the shadows, warping and twisting and muttering darkly. _The boy is insane-_

_-hálfr-dreyri! _

His throat was agony. All he wanted to do was lie down and sleep, and get away from what he was seeing. He wanted to get back to his room, but he couldn't remember where it was or where he was or what was going on around him.

'Go,' he managed. 'Leave me. Think about what I've said.'

Murtagh stood up, very gratefully. 'Yes, Sire. I'll think about it, Sire.'

Galbatorix could see him leaving, walking through the great white shape of a dragon to get to the door. 'Murtagh?' he said, reaching out with his voice.

Murtagh turned. 'Yes, Sire?'

Galbatorix got up out of his chair, leaning on the table. 'I believed it was right,' he said, his voice low and passionate, almost young again. 'You have to believe that, Murtagh. I believed it was right.'

Murtagh paused. 'Yes, Sire.'

Then he was gone. The moment the door closed behind him, Galbatorix reached into his pocket and started to search for a bottle of potion.

His pocket was empty. He tried the other one, and the secret one inside his robe. Nothing. He had been so over-excited that morning that he had completely forgotten to take any with him. Galbatorix pulled his robe open. The sores had reopened, every single one of them. Without even thinking, unable to see past the hallucinations swirling around him, he pulled off his gloves and spread his right hand over them.

'Waíse heill!'

The instant the magic came forth, he felt it rip every last shred of energy out of his body. Overwhelming nausea slammed into his stomach, and he vomited over the table. He would have fallen over, but he managed to keep hold of the table.

'_Galbatorix!'_ Shruikan was calling him. _'What's going on?'_

Galbatorix's own mental voice was a babble. _'Can't – out of potion, the sores have… I'm delirious again, I th…'_

But he knew Shruikan could not help him.

The room started to turn grey around him. Solid objects were fading out of existence. He couldn't see the walls now. The images of the Forsworn and the dead elders were the only thing he could clearly see now. They were standing all around him, watching him. There was Roland, and Vander, and Morzan…

Galbatorix staggered toward them, holding out a hand. 'Help me,' he said. 'Please! I'm sick, please help!'

They did not move. They stood there, just out of reach, just watching him in silence.

Galbatorix started to cough. 'Please! Help me! _HELP!_'

He let go of the table, and his legs instantly gave out from underneath him. If he hit the ground, he didn't feel it. He thought he heard a door open somewhere, and voices hovered somewhere above him, but he could no longer speak. He lay on his back on the stone floor, shivering, his whole body as cold as ice, and slowly sank into a maze of dark dreams.


	33. In Dreams

Chapter Thirty-Three

In Dreams

Galbatorix woke up slowly and painfully, his mind crawling through layers of confusion and darkened dreams and toward reality again. He could hear a voice mumbling to itself somewhere far away.

'…Laela? Laela? Where are you? Laela? Can you run, Laela, can you run? Can you catch me, Laela? Can you… find me…? Laela? Don't go… don't leave me, Skade, please no. Don't leave me here, I can't find the way, it's so dark, don't leave me alone, please, Skade, please… help me, someone, please help me, help… tell them to find me, tell them I need them, tell them I'm alive. Morzan, I didn't mean it, Morzan, please, listen to me – don't go! Come back! I don't want to die, please, I don't want to die. The snow's so cold, it hurts, it hurts so bad… I didn't mean… didn't mean… didn't…'

Something cold touched his forehead, and he shuddered and cried out. 'No! No, please, no, I don't want the snow, please…' he grabbed for something and found a handful of cloth, but his fingers wouldn't grip it and his hand fell back down.

He thought he could hear a voice speaking to him. Was it Flell's?

'I'm sorry, Flell,' he said. 'I didn't want to leave you. I didn't want her to fall. I was trying to find you. Why did you take it, Flell, why'd you…? Where's my fairth? I think I broke it, I saw it…'

The voice again. He thought he could catch a few words. '…_drink_…'

A cup touched his lips. He swallowed a little of the contents, but then turned his head away. 'No, Laela. I told you I'd never drink again. Where's Roland? He'll tell you…'

Someone touched him on the forehead, and a gentle murmur of words came to his ears. He sighed and let himself relax, and the darkness took him again.

But the darkness was not empty. There were things waiting for him in it. He saw Vrael.

'No!' the old elf said harshly. 'Idiot boy! You need to keep your heart in your hands, how many times do I have to tell you?'

'Yes, master,' Galbatorix answered. He opened his robe and reached into his chest. He found his heart and took hold of it. 'Like this?' he said, and pulled it out into the light. But when he looked at it he saw that it was a dragon egg, whose shell kept changing. From white to black, from black to white, back and forth.

'The shell dies,' said Vrael. 'The boy is insane.'

Suddenly White Violence was in his hands. '_I – AM – NOT – INSANE!_' he screamed.

'Can you find the circle?' Vrael sneered. 'You can't, hálfr-dreyri.'

'LIAR!' Galbatorix roared. He swung White Violence with all his might, straight at that sneering face, which shattered into a million pieces.

Then he couldn't find it any more, and he went wandering in search of it. Somewhere he found someone else, walking beside him, and he realised she had been there all along.

'Will you help me look?' he asked.

She laughed at him. 'Truth teller, truth teller, never tell a lie, how do you see what truth there be if you only have one eye?'

'Then take it off,' he said, and took the patch off her eye. Underneath there was no eye, only a glittering diamond set into the socket. He pulled it out and it turned black and fell out of his hand and into a pool of water.

'I lost it,' he said.

The pool erupted, and Shruikan flew out of it, roaring. _'Stars and lightning,'_ said the black dragon, flying away into an endless sky.

Galbatorix tried to follow him, but suddenly found himself surrounded by dark elves, each one exactly the same. 'The King without a throne,' they said. 'Where will you sit now?'

'When the sun falls,' he said.

They sighed and melted away, and Laela was there, a tiny hatchling with bone-white scales and two black sockets for eyes. She danced in the snow and jabbed him with her claws, hurting him, and chanted; 'Half and half, half and half, half and half! Half-sight, half-heart, half-way!' and she laughed at him, mocking him, before she turned and fled away over the snowy mountains, leaving him covered in ice that bled and turned his entire body red-hot.

He woke again, and found himself staring at something grey and blurry. It moved suddenly, and he felt something prodding at his chest. '…Laela?' he mumbled.

The thing moved again, and said something.

He felt hot all over, and his chest burned with pain. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and sink away from it all, but he forced his eyes to stay open. '…what?'

The voice spoke again. It sounded as if it were coming through a wall, but he managed to comprehend something of what it was saying. '…water, Sire?'

He coughed, and the pain that instantly radiated through his chest was so severe that tears sprang into his eyes. 'Yes,' he rasped.

A few moments later, water was poured into his mouth, and he made himself swallow it, though it felt like the mightiest struggle of his life. Still, it wet his parched mouth and cooled him a little.

He sighed. 'No… no snow,' he managed to say. 'Don't let it touch me. Put out the… fire. I'm hot.'

The coldness touched his forehead again, and he felt wet, melted snow trickle over his eyes and nose. He tried to fend it off, but someone held his hands still.

'No,' he moaned, trying feebly to break free. 'Not the snow. I don't want to go back, please don't make me…'

The coldness went away, and he slept again. This time he didn't dream.

He drifted between darkness and light for a long time, not knowing where he was or how long he had been there. He could no longer tell the difference between waking and sleeping, dreaming and reality. He spoke to people, some real and present and others imagined, sometimes drifting in a sea of flame and listening to the coughing and cries of pain of a man who was deathly sick, somewhere far away in some other place that meant nothing to him. He listened with mild curiosity, and then slept and dreamed and let the man suffer alone.

And then, at last, he woke up and found he could see. The first thing he felt was pain, and heat, and a heaviness in his limbs, as if he were tied down. He panicked and tried to get up, but someone pushed him back onto his pillows.

He lay back, breathing rapidly, and realised he was lying in a bed. He still had his trousers on, but someone had removed his robe and boots and laid several blankets over the lower half of his body, leaving his chest and arms exposed. He looked down dreamily, and saw the deep stab-wounds in his body, saw the blood running over his skin. He was hurt, they'd hurt him, they had come back to kill him, but he couldn't feel any pain.

Someone else was there, looking down on him. It was an elf. A beautiful, wild elf, with silver hair and burning gold eyes like two suns.

Joy rose in Galbatorix's heart. 'Skade,' he whispered. 'Skade!'

No recognition showed in the elf's face. She said something indistinct, and then turned away.

'Skade!' Galbatorix called. 'Skade, its' me, it's Galbatorix, don't you recognise me? I was waiting for you. Skade, please…'

Then she was there again, beside him, touching his chest. He tried to reach out to her, to take her hands in his, but he was weak and clumsy and he missed. He could see her pulling away from him, and fear and misery shot through him.

'Please, Skade,' he said. 'Please, don't leave me again. I'm not mad. I love you, Skade.'

His voice was dying away, strangling itself in his throat. He couldn't see Skade any more, and he lay still on his back, mumbling. 'I love you, Skade. I kept my oath. I lied about everything else, I broke all of the others, but I kept it, I swear. I never touched… you are my Queen, Skade. You were always my Queen. Skade…'

Voices were murmuring somewhere. He listened desperately. Was one of them Skade's?

'…_delirious, Firepox, the Lady Selena-,'_

'_-No. I cannot.'_

'_But he can't-,'_

'_Yes.'_

'Skade,' he said again. 'Skade…'

But Skade would not come.

Tears started to wet his face. 'Skade, it's too much. I can't do it any more. Skade, please, you've got to help me. I think I'm going mad. Skade… he's dead, Skade. It's over. He's dead. I killed him. First his dragon, and then him. He's dead. I cut his head off. Please, I can't do any more. I'm lost, Skade, and it hurts. They're all dead, Skade…'

Nothing. Only silence, and pain, and loneliness. He continued to call her name hopelessly, pleading with her to come back. _Skade. Skade. Please, Skade…_

'Galbatorix.'

He opened his eyes, and there she was. She had come back and she was there, her face filling his vision. 'Skade!'

She smiled at him and caressed his face. 'Galbatorix. My Galbatorix.'

'Skade…' he reached up toward her, but he couldn't touch her. 'Skade.'

Then she was there, wrapping herself around him, her body entwined with his. She was all around him, her warm skin pressed against his, her wild, spicy scent filling his nostrils, her fierce voice in his ears, whispering his name. His fingers were entwined in her hair and he held her close, sobbing in his joy. 'Skade, Skade, my Skade.'

'Sleep now,' she whispered. 'You can rest now, Galbatorix.'

'Yes…' he lay back amid the blankets, a gentle smile on his face. 'Yes, Skade.'

Then he slept again.

He never knew how long he slept for. When he woke again, though, it was to pain.

He groaned softly. His throat was agony, and breathing in made his entire chest burn.

But his mind was clear enough now. He looked at his surroundings, trying to remember what had happened. There had been… he'd been talking to someone. And then he'd fainted.

Dull horror settled into his stomach. He'd fainted. And they'd found him.

He was in the infirmary, where they had brought him after the assassins had attacked him. He was lying on the bed with several blankets over him, and he could see his robe hanging up nearby. His boots were placed neatly on the floor beside it, and his trousers were folded up on a chair. They'd taken his clothes off. He managed to move one hand, and touched his chest. The sores were all there, itchy and painful. Someone had covered them up.

Galbatorix tried to sit up, but quickly realised that he wasn't able to. His entire body was weak and useless. So was his mind. He tried to make contact with Shruikan, but his mental voice was silent and he couldn't summon up the energy to make his mind reach out from his body. Trying made his head hurt, and he gritted his teeth and tried to breathe deeply in spite of the pain in his lungs.

After a while – he had lost all sense of time – the door to the infirmary opened and a group of people came in. He didn't recognise any of them, but they came to him straight away. 'Sire!'

Galbatorix said nothing. He watched them vaguely as they surrounded the bed, too weak to protest when one of them pulled the blankets away to expose his chest. She removed the dressings and examined the sores. 'No change,' she muttered, and then looked at his face. 'Sire, how do you feel?'

Galbatorix closed his eyes again, still silent.

'Sire, we need to know some things if we can treat you,' the voice persisted. 'We suspect you have Firepox, and if you do then it's very serious, Sire. Can you tell us how long you've been ill for?'

Galbatorix managed to find his voice. 'Skade,' he said. The word came out as a painful rasp.

'I'm sorry, Sire?'

His hands curled into fists. 'Skade,' he said again. 'Where's… Skade?'

'I'm sorry, but I don't know who that is, Sire,' said the healer.

Galbatorix opened his eyes again. 'She was… here. Before. Where… did she… go?'

'Sire, when did the sores first appear?' said the healer. 'Was it around the time the Lady Selena was captured? Please, we have to know, for your sake, Sire.'

Galbatorix's expression twisted. 'Don't call me Sire.'

'Here.' A cup of water was pressed against his lips. 'Drink, Sire.'

Galbatorix obeyed. He nearly gagged on the water, but he managed to get it down. It made him feel a little better. 'Please,' he said, once the cup was withdrawn. 'She's an elf. Silver hair and golden eyes. Skade. She's called Skade. Find her. Tell her to come to see me. Tell her I need her.'

'Yes, Sire,' the healer said diplomatically.

Galbatorix closed his eyes again. 'Good… good.'

They tried to ask him more questions after that, but he didn't answer them. He went back to sleep again. He felt peaceful in spite of his weakness. Skade was back. He'd seen her, and now everything was going to be all right again.

When he woke up again later, there was someone else there. Not Skade. No. Skade was a dream now. She had not come back. She would never come back.

'Sire?'

Galbatorix squinted. 'Lord… Dirke?'

The old man looked relieved. 'Yes, Sire. Are you feeling better, Sire?'

His head did feel a little better now, and he nodded vaguely. 'Dirke, what's…?'

Dirke moved a little closer, his look worried. 'Sire, I've been talking to the healers. They've been keeping me informed of your condition.'

'I said… no healers,' Galbatorix rasped. 'Why… are they… they shouldn't have touched me.'

'I'm sorry, Sire,' said Dirke. 'But we did what seemed best. You had collapsed in the dining hall and were calling out for help, so I ordered for you to be brought in here. You needed to be looked after, and urgently so.'

Galbatorix tried to speak, but his words turned into a cough. He coughed for some time; deep, painful coughing that made his entire body hurt.

Dirke looked on anxiously. 'You've been in here for over a week, Sire. I've been in here to visit you several times, but you were feverish and you didn't seem to recognise me.'

Galbatorix had managed to stop coughing, and took in several deep, ragged breaths. 'Or maybe I'm just insane,' he said nastily.

Dirke looked troubled. 'Sire, you have Firepox. The healers finally managed to identify it this morning.'

'Firepox,' Galbatorix sighed.

'I'm sorry, Sire, but they're completely certain of it.'

'Have… they found… a cure yet?'

'No, Sire,' said Dirke. 'Herbalists and doctors all over the Empire have been searching in vain ever since the proclamation was made. The cause and cure are unknown. The healers believe…' he hesitated, '…the healers believe that there is no chance that you will ever recover, Sire.'

Galbatorix listened calmly. 'Yes, Dirke. I know. I have… been ill for longer… than any of you know. That is why I ordered for… no-one to touch me. I did not… want them to become infected.'

'We… suspected that was the case, Sire,' said Dirke. 'And… the healers are being kept in quarantine. The Firepox was recognised when one of them caught it from you and died. So far the rest appear to be fine.'

Galbatorix coughed again. 'How… is the Empire?'

'All is well in the Empire, Sire,' said Dirke, much too smoothly for Galbatorix's liking. 'I am seeing to its proper running for the time being. However…' he trailed off.

Galbatorix watched him. 'But you can't keep on doing that forever,' he finished.

'Yes, Sire,' said Dirke. 'I am merely a temporary measure. I do not have the stamina or the experience required to run the Empire forever, and my advice would be for a more suitable candidate to be found.'

Galbatorix knew what he was trying to imply. 'What you mean,' he said, his voice coming slowly and with difficulty, 'Is that you believe I am dying.'

'Not at all, Sire,' said Dirke. 'I have every confidence that you will-,'

'Don't lie,' said Galbatorix. 'It's the only… logical conclusion. I would be thinking the same thing in your place. What you want to say to me is that… I need an heir.'

'Yes, Sire,' Dirke said at last. 'If you should die, there must be someone ready to take your place.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Yes. Don't think I… haven't thought of that… myself, Dirke. I thought of it the day after I was crowned, and I chose my heir then.'

'So you have someone in mind now, Sire?' said Dirke.

Galbatorix's eyes were distant, almost wistful. 'I knew… who I trusted the most then. My greatest friend. My strong right arm. Morzan. I named him as my heir then. Didn't… he didn't know, but he was always my first choice.'

Dirke hesitated. 'Sire… Lord Morzan is dead.'

'I know that,' Galbatorix snapped. 'But his son is not. Go and find Murtagh. I have already written the proclamation; it is hidden among the papers in my office. Bring it here, and I will seal it and make it official. And tell Murtagh… tell him to prepare himself. I have… he will be crowned at once. I shall give him the news myself. Send him to me.'

'Sire, I-,'

'Go,' said Galbatorix, suddenly exhausted and waving a hand toward the door. 'Go, Dirke. See to it. Murtagh will be King. I cannot rule here any more.'

'Yes, Sire,' said Dirke. 'I'll see to it. Try and get some rest, Sire.'

Then he was gone, and Galbatorix sighed deeply and relaxed. Yes… it was time now. Time to end it. He should have ended it a long time ago. But he knew he had made the right decision. Murtagh had grown to be a fine man, with Morzan's strength and courage but the charisma and quick wit that his father had lacked. He knew how to fight, and he knew how to deal in politics, and even if he didn't know that his elusive guardian had been grooming him to succeed him Galbatorix knew that he would have the strength to survive.

Yes… Galbatorix closed his eyes, feeling all his fears and anxieties fade away. Murtagh was the key. He would know what to do. Yes…

Dirke did not return that day. Galbatorix slept some more, lost in dreams of Skade, and when he woke up the healers were there again, one of them carrying a bowl of soup. He managed to eat some of it, and commanded them to summon Dirke before he fell asleep again. The sickness robbed him of his sense of time, and the lack of windows in the room meant that he couldn't tell if it was night or day.

The next time he woke up he was alone, and there was a piece of paper on the beside table. He could just see the writing on it – his own hand. It was the document giving the command for Murtagh to take power over the Empire, waiting for his seal. That made him smile. Dirke had finally brought it. He tried to pick it up, but he was still too weak to move much, and he sighed. He would have to wait until someone came. They could help him. Then more sleep, and dreams of a white dragon singing softly to him.

Eventually, after what he guessed were several more days of sleep and brief encounters with the healers, Dirke did return. He was plainly clad and looked strained. 'Sire, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting so long.'

'It doesn't matter,' said Galbatorix. 'Where is Murtagh?'

'Sire, I debated long and carefully about this,' said Dirke. 'But this seemed the best course of action. I have something important to discuss with you.'

'Nothing is more important than the task at hand,' Galbatorix interrupted. 'Give me… that proclamation, Dirke. Now.'

Dirke put the piece of paper into his hand. 'I brought it straight to you once I found it, Sire, but-,'

Galbatorix gestured at the candle. 'Wax, please.'

Dirke did not move. 'Sire, please, there is something I must tell you.'

'What?' said Galbatorix, starting to be angry. 'You cannot dissuade me, Dirke. I have made up my mind. Where is Murtagh? I ordered you to send him to see me.'

'Sire, the young Lord Murtagh is not in the city any more,' said Dirke.

Galbatorix stared at him. 'What?'

'Lord Murtagh… has run away,' said Dirke. 'I was advised not to tell you, Sire, but I have no choice. It was necessary for you to know.'

'Run away?' Galbatorix repeated, as if he had no idea what the term meant. 'What do you mean?'

'It happened some time ago, Sire,' said Dirke. 'While you were… indisposed. Tornac, the master-at-arms, helped him flee the castle. Tornac was killed by guards, but Lord Murtagh escaped.'

Galbatorix was still staring at him. 'Where did he go?'

'We don't know, Sire,' said Dirke. 'Messages have been sent to the city governors, and word has been put out for him to be apprehended and brought back here immediately, but so far there has been no word or sighting. The city has been searched, but so far…'

'But why?' said Galbatorix.

Dirke shook his head. 'I cannot say, Sire. It happened on the night of the day you spoke to him, Sire.'

Galbatorix's expression did not change, but the proclamation crumpled in his hand.

'I am sorry, Sire,' said Dirke. The apology felt hopelessly inadequate, but there was nothing else he could realistically say.

The King didn't seem to hear him. He lay and stared blankly at the ceiling, still clutching the proclamation in one hand.

'Sire?' said Dirke.

'Go,' Galbatorix mumbled, without looking at him. 'Just… go.'

Three days later, Dirke returned to the infirmary and found two of the healers waiting for him.

'I'm sorry, my Lord,' said one. 'But it would be better if you did not visit the King just now.'

'How is he?' said Dirke.

She shook her head. 'The same as before. Weak and confused. He spends a little more time awake now, but… he is getting worse, my Lord.'

Dirke's heart sank. 'How so?'

'He refuses to eat anything,' said the healer. 'He won't take any water, either. And he has not said a word in three days.'

Dirke swore. 'How much longer do you give him?'

'I cannot say,' said the healer. 'The fact that he has survived this long is bewildering. I treated the Lady Selena. She had Firepox, and it killed her within four days.'

'Perhaps-,' Dirke began, and then broke off as a noise from overhead interrupted the conversation. It was a low, mournful howl – a little like the voice of a wolf, but far louder and deeper.

'The King's dragon,' Dirke muttered in the silence that followed. 'He's been doing that for days now.' He sighed. 'I will leave the infirmary, then. But be sure to send for me if anything happens.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

Dirke left the infirmary for the corridor outside, head bowed.

Someone was waiting for him. 'I am here to see the King.'

Dirke glanced up. 'The King is n- oh my gods.'

The someone was tall and thin – too thin. He wore red and black, and his hair was crimson. But it was the eyes that made Dirke freeze. Cold, dead, empty eyes. They were the colour of blood.

The eyes did not change their expression, but their owner smiled very slightly. The smile looked wrong, somehow, as if the red-haired man had never seen a real smile before. 'I will see the King,' he repeated in a flat voice.

Dirke backed away slightly without realising he was doing it. 'Who are _you?'_

'I am Lord Durza, and I will see the King now,' the stranger said in the same flat voice as before. He didn't wait for an answer, but stepped forward into the infirmary.

Dirke reached out to stop him, but stopped himself almost instantly. His heart was pounding horribly.

Durza ignored him. He disappeared into the infirmary, moving with a terrible grace and silence that reminded Dirke of the King as he had once been, long ago. But that was how Shades always moved.


	34. The Meaning of Despair

Chapter Thirty-Four

The Meaning of Despair

The ceiling was white. It reminded him of a snowfield. Galbatorix had been staring at it for a long time. He couldn't remember how long. Hours? Days? He didn't care.

He sighed; a slow, exhausted sigh. It rattled in his throat and made his lungs hurt. But, then, breathing always did now. He'd had a powerful voice once. Deep and strong. Commanding. A King's voice. Yes. Silvertongue. That's what they'd called him.

His stomach was burning with hunger, and his mouth was dry. That was easy enough to ignore. He was used to pain and discomfort by now.

Maybe he could order them to burn him. That could work. The spell didn't make him invulnerable, and surely if his body was completely destroyed he couldn't recover from that. If there was nothing but ashes left…

No. That would kill Shruikan too, or send him insane. And they wouldn't do it, even if he could still speak in order to tell them so. They would think he was raving again.

But there had to be a way. If he could only get up, he could… do what? Bury himself? Find a river or a lake and throw himself in? Go North and let himself freeze? He'd be found sooner or later. The entire Empire would turn out to search for their King. They'd pull him out and bring him back. He hadn't managed to lose himself in the canal in Dras-Leona for very long. And there was always the chance that the wrong people could find him. If the Varden got their hands on him…

He smiled grimly to himself. The idea had a certain attraction. If the Varden found him in this condition, they wouldn't realise that he had the plague until it was too late. He imagined their leaders coughing and choking, moaning as the sores erupted all over their bodies, and then dying in agony, unable to breathe. Maybe then they would understand.

He wondered where Murtagh was now. Where was he trying to go? Was he planning to go into hiding somewhere, out in the wilderness? Was he, gods forbid, planning to join the Varden?

Galbatorix remembered what he had said to him in the dining hall. He'd thought it was best, at the time. It was a test, hadn't the boy understood? If he had agreed and gone and done as he was commanded, that would have proven that he was loyal and dedicated. If he had come back to see him and refused on the grounds that the idea was cruel and excessive, that would have demonstrated courage and compassion. But he hadn't done either of these things. Instead he'd run away, like a spoilt brat who didn't want to face up to his responsibilities. He'd betrayed the closest thing to a father he had, the one who…

Galbatorix groaned softly. Oathbreaker. That was what he was. He had promised to care for Morzan's son, promised it to himself and to Morzan. But he'd lost him. He'd driven Murtagh away, and now he was gods-knew-where, probably in mortal danger, to be either caught and dragged back to Urû'baen like a criminal, or killed by bandits or by the Varden. And the new rider, the boy, the one he had seen in the dream… he was out there too, and he too could be in danger. If the Varden got to him…

Galbatorix knew there was nothing he could do. Not now. He was utterly helpless. What happened to those two young men now was up to them, and to the gods. _Please, _he whispered internally. _Bring them here. Bring them to Urû'baen, bring them to help me. _

But there was no reply and there never would be. No-one was coming to help him. Not any more. He would have cried, but the sickness had robbed him of the strength to do even that.

The door creaked open, somewhere out of sight, and he cringed at the noise. No doubt the healers were coming back, to try and force him to eat. He lay resignedly and waited.

Someone appeared in his field of vision, so quickly and quietly that it made him start slightly. It was not one of the healers, and nor was it Lord Dirke. It was…

Galbatorix's eyes opened wide. _Durza._

Durza had not changed since their last meeting, but that wasn't particularly surprising. Shades did not age. He bowed his head. 'My King… Galbatorix.'

Galbatorix tried to speak, but he couldn't. His voice had become nothing but a strangled rasp. He coughed weakly, staring at Durza.

Durza was watching him closely. 'You are very ill, Sire. I had heard something, but I did not know you were as weak as this.'

Galbatorix winced.

'I have probed the minds of the healers,' Durza went on. 'It would seem you have Firepox, Sire.' Suddenly he was much closer. 'Incurable, and fatal. At least, to ordinary mortals. But you have not died, have you, Sire?' he went on. 'The healers cannot understand why.'

Galbatorix tried to move away from the Shade, his breathing laboured and gasping.

Durza did not react to this. 'But you and I both know why this is so, don't we, Sire?'

'Don't… know,' said Galbatorix, his voice a barely audible whisper.

Durza moved back a little, his face expressionless. 'I know a lie when I hear one, Silvertongue. You know. And I know. I have known for a very long time. Since the day Ilirea was destroyed.' He kept his eyes on Galbatorix's face the whole time, unblinking and steady in a way no human's ever could be. 'You see,' he said, 'A Shade knows magic. Better than any elf, or rider, or dragon. We can… taste it. Sense it in people. When you returned after the fight in the elders' cave, I could see what had changed in you. I could sense the magic you had woven about yourself. Old magic. Dark elvish. You had taught me dark elvish magic, hadn't you, Sire? In return for my loyalty. Even though you knew I could not use it because I did not have the dark elvish blood as you did. That spell was one you never taught me. But I knew what it meant. I could see it in you and knew how it had changed you. I knew you were no longer human or elvish. You had made yourself into something else.'

Galbatorix's heart was pattering frantically. He tried to raise a hand, to gesture at Durza to leave him, but his arms felt pinned to his sides. And Durza would not leave.

'I knew then,' the Shade continued, 'That you had made the final step in the journey I had always knew you would make. When we first met, you were weak and sick, and wounded. You were near death, but you recovered. You found strength inside you when another man would have died – first in spirit, and then in body. What had happened to you had taught you something that few ever have the strength to learn: that the world is a cruel place and the hearts of men are corrupt beyond redemption. You had experienced true evil, and that would have destroyed a lesser man. But you dared stand up and face it, and you fought back. I knew then that you had the potential to do so, if you had the guidance you needed. I did what I could to help you, but I knew you would not be truly strong until you learned to shed the last of your weakness. When you cast the spell, you took that final step, as I had known you would do.' Durza's expression had not changed as he spoke, and his voice had remained flat. Shades rarely showed any emotion.

Galbatorix could feel the voice driving into his mind, refusing to stop, making his head ache. Filling him with despair. He wished he could sleep, or faint, but he remained awake. And Durza would not leave him alone.

The Shade was still standing by the bed and watching him, perhaps searching for something in his face. 'But I see now that I was wrong,' he said. 'You have not shed all weakness as I had hoped, and your illness is the proof of it.' He sighed. 'You went to Gil'ead, Sire. Lord Morzan told you about the plague, but you were not content to stay away. And now…' the barest hint of a smile played around Durza's mouth as he leaned closer, his breath icy cold on Galbatorix's face. 'And now you can see the price you have paid for your mistake. The trap you set for yourself without realising it… and now it is too late.'

Galbatorix closed his eyes. 'Go… leave… please…'

Durza withdrew, but not very far. 'You know it, Sire. Unable to die, unable to recover… you will spend the rest of eternity helpless and suffering, while your Empire crumbles around you.'

Galbatorix said nothing, but he shuddered softly and his eyes became moist.

'You wish to die,' Durza said softly. 'I can sense it in you, Sire. With every breath you long for it to be your last. You hear your heart beat, and beg for it to stop. You have lain here for days, refusing to eat, longing for death to find you, so that your suffering can finally end and your spirit set free of this prison. It is all you have left, Sire, this wish that can never be granted.' The Shade's eyes were blank and staring, filling his vision like two pools of gore set into that pale corpse face. 'That is your desire now, is it not?'

Very slowly, so slightly that it was only just perceptible, Galbatorix nodded. Just once.

'I know this,' Durza breathed. 'And that is why I have come to see you, Sire.' He straightened up, his voice suddenly returning to normal and losing its icy, hypnotic edge. But his eyes did not leave Galbatorix's face 'We have not met for many a year, Sire. I have kept my distance, for I sensed that I was not needed. But now the time has come when my services could be of use to you once more. I have come… to help you, Sire.'

Hope showed in Galbatorix's black eyes, and he raised his head slightly.

'I have the cure that you need, Sire,' said Durza. 'I have the power to save you from this… this pointless suffering, this pain you do not deserve and have never deserved,' he gestured at him briefly, almost dismissively. 'Should this be your reward, Sire, after all you have done? After all you sacrificed for the good of your people? To lie here, robbed of your strength, with your friends dead and your Empire failing while traitors and terrorists seek to tear this city apart and take your throne away? No. What you have done… your power, your courage, your unfailing strength, deserves better than this. Your people have no gratitude, Sire. Again and again you have stood between them and chaos, made yourself the shield that protects them, just as the rites declared when you were crowned so long ago. I have not forgotten that day. "May you be judge and warlord, master and protector, may you care for your people above all else, may you live long and shield us from misfortune". But how can you protect them, when they are allowing themselves to become the very thing they once despised, when they turn against you as they have done? A shield cannot stand when it is struck from both sides. This treachery cannot be tolerated. The rebels must be crushed, and quickly, before it is too late.'

'Yes,' Galbatorix managed.

Durza nodded. 'Yes. You know it as well as I, Sire. And you despair because you know you can no longer do for them what you must. All the long years of your life have beaten you down and reduced you to this state – all for them, and all for nothing.' Durza blinked, seemingly for the first time since he had entered the room. A slow, lazy blink, like a cat or a lizard. 'But I can help you, Sire, as I helped you once before. I can take away your pain, if you will let me.'

The word did not want to come. It caught in his throat, dry and rough and ancient. But it came, just. Barely audible. _'…how…?'_

'I will show you,' said Durza.

Galbatorix lay and watched him. The Shade moved away, to stand with his back to the wall. Then he closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath. And then…

It started slowly, almost imperceptibly. Galbatorix felt a strange coldness in his body, taking away the burning heat of the Firepox. He shivered and coughed. But it did not end there. The coldness seeped into his mind, little by little, and then…

In an instant the room was snatched away from him, and he was lying on the ground, surrounded by whiteness. Snow. It was snow. The air was freezing with a powerful blizzard-wind, blowing white flakes over and around him where he lay.

'_I can set you free,'_ Durza's voice said. It was coming from everywhere at once. _'I can take away the pain. Your body will be healed, and will become invulnerable. Your mind… will be free to rest forever.'_

'_Where am I?' _

'_You are at peace,'_ said Durza. _'In the place where your life ended long ago. My King… you wish to die. I can grant you that wish.'_

Galbatorix started to tremble. The cold was needling at him, making him go numb all over. _'Durza, stop it-,'_

'_Let me into your mind, Sire,'_ said Durza. _'Only let me in. Your body is no use to you any more, Sire. Give it to me. The Firepox will be cured, and your suffering will be over forever. You shall die painlessly, and at peace, as if you were asleep forever. I can grant you this gift, Sire.'_

The snow was mounting higher, burying him amid the whiteness. The cold was taking him. _'Durza, please, stop it. Why are you doing this?'_

'_I am doing nothing,'_ said Durza. _'The snow is your own creation, Sire. Wake up from it, if you wish.'_

Galbatorix tried to get up, pushing the snow away from himself, but then he suddenly realised that he couldn't. There was no snow.

He blinked, and found himself still in bed, staring at the white ceiling. He had not moved an inch in any direction, and Durza was still there.

'Let me into your mind, Sire,' the Shade said again. And then his voice was inside Galbatorix's head, whispering softly. _'Only let me in…'_

Galbatorix found his own mental voice. _'But if… if I did that…'_

'_You would be dead, Sire, as you long to be,'_ said Durza. _'I would take care of the Empire for you.'_

Horror showed in Galbatorix's eyes. _'But… but…'_

'_It is the only choice you can make now, Sire,'_ Durza said gently. _'If you were to give your body to me, it would save both yourself and the Empire. The people need a strong leader. Civil war is breaking out. The Varden grows stronger all the time. Soon they will attack the Empire directly. You cannot lead the fight against them, Sire, but I can.'_

As Galbatorix lay there, his mind full of the Shade's voice, he saw something. A vision, wavering before his eyes.

He saw… he saw a vision of himself. But himself as he had never been. His face, his black hair, his beard and robe, and the crown glinting on his forehead. But the eyes were not his eyes. They were the colour of blood. A Shade's eyes. He saw himself… no. He saw himself as a Shade, his body under Durza's control. Saw the Shade-King in command of vast armies. Saw him ride Shruikan into battle, and crush the Varden. He saw what Durza wanted.

'_I would be a good King,'_ Durza whispered.

'_But the Empire…'_

'_The Empire would be safe, Sire.'_

'_Shruikan-,'_

'_I would be kind to him. Sire, there is nothing else you can do now. Nothing but what is best. Give me what can no longer serve you. It will be your last sacrifice, and the easiest.'_

'_But…'_

There was a strange smile on Durza's face. It was full of unquenchable hunger. _'Only let me in, Sire…'_

'NO!'

The word burst out of him, loud and awful, almost a scream. Galbatorix jerked violently, trying with all his might to get up. He thrust Durza's presence out of his mind with all his strength, and then shut him out. His psychic defences, stronger than any other, held out against the Shade's mental probing. Durza fought back, his calm suddenly vanishing, trying with all his might to force a way through. But Galbatorix had not lost the strength that was in his mind, and the Shade could not get in.

Durza retreated, suddenly uncertain. 'Sire, I meant no harm, I only-,'

Galbatorix's hand came up, pointing at the door. 'Go,' he snarled, his voice low and guttural and barely his own any more. 'Get out. Never – never come – back, Durza…'

In a split second, Durza's calm mask disappeared and his face twisted into a snarl of pure, white-hot fury. 'You will regret this,' he spat. 'On my word as a Shade you will regret denying me my reward. You broke your oath to me, Sire. When I swore myself to you, you said that you would grant me dark elvish powers in return. You lied! You did not tell me I would not be able to use those spells without dark elvish blood!' he advanced, his hands clenched. 'I need your body! Your blood! Your power! You promised them to me!'

Galbatorix bared his teeth in a defiant snarl, and he pointed at the door again.

Durza moved as if to attack him, but did not. He had sworn an oath of obedience to Galbatorix, and not even a Shade could break such an oath. He calmed down abruptly.

'So some part of you still wants to live, half-breed. It seems I was wrong to think you had lost the last of this foolish belief that you are invincible.' He stopped in the doorway, his breathing low and harsh. 'You cannot resist me forever, Sire,' he said. 'I have waited too long to be denied now. If you still think that you have hope left… if you think there is any other choice for you… then you still have not learned.' His eyes gleamed. 'I will teach you the true meaning of despair, Sire,' he promised. 'I will find this new rider, and I will turn him against you. He will join the Varden and they will come for you, and all your power will be lost. And when that day comes and you see Urû'baen in flames as Ilirea once was… I will be waiting.'

And then he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him and leaving Galbatorix alone.

Galbatorix lay still for a long time, his chest heaving as if he had just run a mile. The effort of fighting the Shade had exhausted him, and he fainted briefly; sliding into a dream haunted by Durza's cold eyes and whispering voice.

He woke up abruptly, a short time later. Durza was gone. It was too late to stop him. Too late…

And then, and then… as he lay there, helpless, trapped in a prison whose name was sickness and whose bars were pain, something escaped from him. Something that had been inside him for a hundred years, endlessly striving to escape… something escaped.

Galbatorix began to scream.

'_HELP ME! HELP! PLEASE, HELP!'_

He screamed it again and again, his ruined voice filling the room, louder and louder, on and on, heedless of pain, heedless of dignity… he screamed.

The healers came soon enough. They had to restrain him in the end, and they forced him to drink a potion that made him sleep. But he screamed on, in his sleep, day and night, on and on without rest, as if he were not aware of his surroundings any more, or of anything.

Servants, passing the infirmary, hurried on, almost running to get away. Lord Dirke, when he ventured near, felt his blood run cold and could not enter. He retreated, fleeing back toward his own rooms, the King's cries still echoing in his ears.

Before long, everyone in the castle had heard it.

The people in the city could hear Shruikan, and see him too, raising his head toward the sky and howling endlessly, as if singing a dirge for the partner some claimed was long dead. And when night came and the moon rose high overhead, shining and silver and perfect… King Galbatorix Taranisäii screamed.

The sun was scorching hot. It beat down mercilessly on the beach and the cliffs beyond it. The forest of strange, spicy-scented trees was dry and still, full of the click and buzz of insects. Down on the beach, the deep-blue waters of the sea glittered before they turned to white foam when they merged into the surf which crashed and hissed onto the sand.

Further out to sea there was a storm. A dark mass of cloud hung threateningly low on the horizon, decorated with vivid flashes of lightning. But it would not reach the shore. It never had, even after hundreds of years.

Skade knew that as she sat crouched on the beach, watching the sun on the water. Storms never came to this country, never disturbed this land. They could not. A power greater than theirs held them at bay.

It was hot on the beach. She sighed and relaxed, letting the sun warm her through. She often came to the beach on sunny days. It was a good place to relax. And the chances of being disturbed were low.

She glanced up, and saw a dark shape circling overhead. It was high above her, but she could see the glint of its silver scales. Skirnir, she thought. Always restless. He was probably missing Balisong. She had gone inland to explore, and had not been back in a long time. She had probably found a good place to live for a time. She would be back. They always came back. There was nothing anywhere in this land that could be dangerous to a dragon.

Skade looked out over the sea, toward the storm, and sighed again. Every day she would look out toward it and see it still there, dark and threatening. Her father had said it was there to protect them from anyone trying to invade his shores, but she knew it was there for more than just that. No-one had ever tried to land here even once in the long years since she had arrived.

'_Skade.'_

The voice sounded in her head without warning. It was deep and rumbling, and ancient.

Skade stood up. _'Yes, Father?'_

'_Come to me.'_

'_I will.'_

Skade stretched, and unfurled her wings. They were huge, the membranes the colour of moonlight. She had always been very proud of them. They lifted her easily, and she flew up and over the forest and toward the cliffs. She could see Lifrasir and Katana down there, apparently dozing. Further inland, though, there was the mountain. It would have taken hours for a human to walk that far, but Skade reached it in a few wingbeats.

The mountain was massive, rising out of the forest until all vegetation disappeared from its craggy sides. The stone that formed it was pale grey, for the most but. But partway up it abruptly changed to pitch black.

Skade landed on the mountainside, on a rocky spur, and sat on her haunches, using her tail to balance. _'I am here, Father.'_

For a few moments nothing happened. And then the mountain _moved._ The part of it that was black shifted slightly, sending chunks of stone tumbling down the mountainside. Her father, Lord of the land over the sea, raised his head and stared at her. _'Skade.'_

Skade bowed her head. _'Father.'_

The mountain trembled slightly beneath her as the massive black dragon slowly got to his paws. He was so large he blotted out the sky, so large that even she, a century old, looked small beside him. Every part of him was black; his scales, his wing membranes and his talons. Only the six cracked horns, each one the size of an ancient oak tree, were white. His eyes were gold. _'Skade,'_ he said again. _'Are you well?'_

'_Yes, Father,'_ said Skade.

He peered at her. _'You have been on the beach.'_

Skade shifted slightly. _'It is… comfortable down there.'_

'_You were watching the storm,'_ he said.

'_I like to watch it, Father.'_

The black dragon growled softly. It sounded like thunder rumbling in his enormous chest. _'None may pass through the Storm of the Night Dragon. You know this, Skade.'_

'_I do, Father.'_

His tail twitched. _'You are… not happy here.'_

'_It's my home, Father.'_

'_And yet you do not wish to stay.'_

'_Father, I-,'_

'_You wish to leave me,'_ he said, his voice low and threatening. _'You desire to abandon me.'_

'_No, Father. I would not do that in a hundred years. I have stayed with you here for most of my life, and so have my children.'_

'_Skade,'_ said her father, almost plaintively. _'Why do you wish to leave? I cannot understand. What did your birthplace hold for you but for pain and misery and danger? All your life you faced persecution because of me. You suffered hideous punishment for it. If you were to return, death would find you.'_

Skade bowed her head. _'I know, Father. But…'_

'_So you do not deny that you wish to return there,'_ he said.

'_No,'_ she said softly.

He brought his head close to her. _'Skade,'_ he said, _'I waited here for you. I spent a thousand years alone, longing for my loneliness to end. You found me, you fought to find me, and I protected you. And yet you would throw this away?'_

'_I would return,'_ Skade blurted. _'Father, I swear. I have no wish to go back to Alagaësia, not to live there. This is my home. But…'_

'_You feel you must return briefly?'_

'_Yes, Father. I must. I cannot bear it any longer. I have tried to forget, but I cannot.'_

'_Why?'_

'_I left…' _Skade's tail twitched and she looked away, unable to meet her father's gaze. _'I did something I should not have done. Even now the guilt will not leave me alone.'_

'_What was it, Skade?'_ the black dragon asked.

Skade looked up. _'My children had a father,' _she said simply. _'I loved him with all my heart, and I still love him. I left him behind and in terrible danger, and I… I think about it all the time. I should have brought him here with me, I should not have left him. He did not even know that I would bear his eggs.'_

'_Skade,'_ said the black dragon, _'Skade, please. This is folly. Dragons do not mate for life, and the father of your young will not remember you any more, even if he still lives.'_

'_No,'_ Skade said sharply, almost fiercely. _'He swore to me. He took an oath that he would never take another mate, and that he would love me forever.'_

The black dragon straightened up. _'An oath he will have broken,'_ he said dismissively.

'_No. Not him. Never.'_

He turned away. _'Nevertheless… I cannot allow you to leave. You will remain here. If your mate loved you as much as you claim, he would have come here to find you himself.'_

'_But Father-,'_

'_No, Skade. My word is law. Calm yourself. Go and speak with your children. They would not want you to leave. They love you. As I do.'_

Skade knew there was no argument with him. _'Yes, Father,'_ she mumbled.

'_And stay away from the beach,'_ the black dragon added. _'It does you no good to brood like this.'_

'_Yes, Father.'_

Defeated, the silver dragon flew away. Her father had already lowered his head and gone back to sleep. He was rarely awake during the day. The night was his time. The Night Dragon. That was what he had named himself, long ago, when he was young.

Skade did not feel like going to the clifftop where Katana and Lifrasir were. She flew Northward instead. The cliffs went a long way, following the coast. Further North they melded into a cluster of strange, high formations – full of crags and arches and caves eroded by the wind. There were other beaches here – small and secret, ringed by stone. Skade came here very rarely. It was a strange place, and she didn't like it much.

Nevertheless, she stopped there and perched on a tall rock formation thick enough to support her. She was not the first dragon to use it. The stone was marred by deep claw-marks, and where her scales brushed against it there were patches that had been worn smooth.

She rested there for a while, listening. The wind, blowing inland from the storm out to sea, made eerie moans and howls among the hollows of stone. It sounded like a dirge, and Skade did not like it. Most of her children stayed away for the same reason, but…

She looked up when she heard wingbeats from overhead, but did not move. A large black dragon was coming from the same direction she had used. It was not her father.

Skade jumped from her perch and landed on a piece of clifftop which was relatively flat. The other dragon landed nearby and came to her. The two of them nuzzled each other, growling.

The black dragon sat back. _'Mother,'_ he said. He had a powerful voice; rich and deep.

Skade blinked. _'Hello, Vidar. Why were you down South?'_

'_I was looking for you,'_ he replied.

That surprised her. _'You were? Why?'_

Vidar paused. He looked strikingly similar to his grandfather, but was lighter and slimmer. _'I wanted to talk to you,'_ he said.

'_You did?'_ said Skade. _'Why?'_

Vidar glanced over his shoulder. _'Katana said that you had been to see Lord Ravana. What did he want?'_

'_Nothing. Only to ask after my health.'_

Vidar growled softly. _'Are you well?'_

'_I am. And you, Vidar?'_

'_Well enough. But I am… troubled.'_

Skade watched him curiously. Vidar had always been the most thoughtful of her children. He wasn't exactly dreamy, but he was solitary, and while she had always found the place they had dubbed the Singing Crags unsettling he evidently liked it, since he had chosen to live there away from his siblings. But she had never known him to come to her for help since he had reached maturity and become independent. _'What is it, Vidar?'_

'_Mother…'_ Vidar was avoiding her gaze. He looked genuinely distressed. _'I cannot… what do you know about dreams?'_

The question was asked in a rush. Skade refolded her wings nervously. _'I don't understand, Vidar. What do you mean? Dreams are dreams.'_

'_Yes, but… do they mean anything?'_

'_Not as far as I know. Someone once told me they could be messages, but… I don't think so.'_

'_Yes…'_ Vidar sighed. _'I thought you would say something like that. I have been trying to convince myself of the same thing.'_

'_Why?' _said Skade. _'Have you been having strange dreams, Vidar?'_

'_I have always had strange dreams,'_ said Vidar. _'Ever since I was a hatchling. I chose to live out here because… when I was younger and wondering where I should go, I had dreams where I saw magical stones that sang to me and whispered secrets. When I explored and I found this place, I heard the voice of the stone here and I felt as if I had been here before. So I decided I would live here, because I hoped that the stones could help me understand.'_

'_Understand what?'_

'_My dreams,'_ said Vidar. _'I have spent most of my life trying to see them more clearly, but I have never succeeded.'_

'_And what did you dream about?'_ said Skade.

'_Many things. I could not understand them. I saw things I had never seen while I was awake. I did not want to talk about them, because I was afraid you would tell me I was mad.'_

Skade moved closer to him. _'No. I would not say that, Vidar. Never. What did you see?'_

Vidar closed his eyes. _'I saw a place that was like six dragon horns made from stone, pure white like bone. It was burning. I saw an egg that hatched, and it was full of shadows and the smell of rotting flesh. I saw a great dragon wake up from a hundred years of sleep. I saw a sword made from ice and covered in blood. I saw you buried in a mountain.'_

Skade stared at him. _'Vidar…'_

Vidar opened his eyes again. _'I know!' _he half-shouted, suddenly rearing up a little on his perch, as if he were going to attack. _'I know it makes no sense, I know it's all nonsense, but I saw it and I knew it was…'_ he subsided again, refolding his wings. _'I saw them and they would not leave me alone, and I know… I know they mean something. But I do not know what.'_

'_And what happened then?'_ said Skade.

'_And then I had another dream,'_ said Vidar. _'It was a few days ago. And I knew I must speak with you, and ask you.'_

'_Ask me what?'_ said Skade. _'What was the dream?'_

Vidar fixed her with a direct golden stare. It was almost stern. _'Who was my father?'_

The question caught her off-guard. _'What? Vidar, I don't-,'_

'_You must tell me,'_ said Vidar. It was half a plea and half a command. _'Please, Mother. I am not a hatchling. I have asked you so many times, but you would not answer me clearly. You would not say what his name was, or what he looked like, or how you met him and why you left him behind.'_

'_But what does this have to do with your dreams, Vidar?'_ said Skade.

Vidar settled down. _'It was a different dream. Different than the rest. The others… I dreamed those only once. But this one…'_

'_What did you see, Vidar?'_

'_I saw a dragon,'_ he answered. _'A great dragon. His scales were black, and so were his wings. But he was not me, or Lord Ravana. He was of a different shape. Smaller. Slimmer. But I knew he was old. He had black eyes, unlike any I have ever seen, and he was…'_ Vidar's mind, touching hers, suddenly tasted of fear and worry. _'I saw that dragon lying on the ground. His wings had been broken, and he was in chains. He was trapped in a cage. He was weak and sick, starving to death. There were shapes there, all around him. Enemies. They were hurting him, trying to get at him through the cage. I could see blood on him… he was hurt, bleeding, suffering. And they could not hear him, but he was screaming out for help, begging to be set free. And I knew I must help him, but I could not reach him.'_ Vidar's eyes met hers. _'I believe that dragon was my father,'_ he said. _'But I must know. I must be certain.'_

Skade hesitated. _'Vidar, it was a dream.'_

'_No. It was real. Tell me my father's name.'_

'_He was…'_

'_Where is he?'_ Vidar persisted. _'What does he look like? Is he alive?'_

'_Yes,'_ said Skade. _'Yes, your father is alive. He must be. I would feel it if he was dead.'_

'_Then where is he?'_

'_He is in Alagaësia, where I was born.'_

'_Why did you leave him there, Mother?'_ said Vidar. _'Why did he not come here with you?'_

'_I wanted to bring him,'_ said Skade. _'I asked him to come, but he said no. He had enemies still to face there, and he stayed to fight them. He begged me to stay with him, but I… I would not. I said I must find my father, but I swore I would return. I swore it on my heart.'_

'_But you never did return.'_

'_No. I wanted to. I have wanted to all my life.'_

'_But you could not pass the storm,'_ said Vidar.

'_No. I tried, once. It nearly killed me.'_

'_Why did you not ask Lord Ravana to let you through?' _said Vidar.

'_I did. He refused. He will not let me leave, and his storm keeps me here. Vidar, it is hopeless,'_ said Skade. _'We cannot leave this land. If your father is alive, he is unreachable.'_

Vidar looked thoughtful. _'But what is his name? What does he look like? Was he like the dragon in my dream?'_

'_He was…'_ Skade hesitated. She had not described him to any of her young, not properly. She had not even spoken his name except when she was alone. Now, when she tried, it made a terrible ache arise in her chest. _'He…'_

'_Tell me,'_ said Vidar. _'Please, Mother. You owe me the truth.'_

'_He was dark,'_ Skade said at last. _'Dark all over.'_

'_A black dragon?'_

'_He had black eyes,'_ said Skade. _'I remember them so well. Even now. Black and bright, like jewels. And he had… he had sharp features, and he was light and slim. He could move without making a sound, as if he were a shadow. He was graceful.'_ She closed her eyes, savouring the image in her mind. _'And he could dance…'_

'_Dance?'_ Vidar sounded puzzled.

'_He had a voice that sounded like… like it could make the future become whatever it said,'_ Skade went on, ignoring him. _'It was deep and dark. Like yours. You sound like he did, a little. He was a leader. I never saw him lead, but it was all over him. So powerful I could nearly taste it. And he was persuasive, like no-one else I had ever met. He said that others called him "Silvertongue". And when he… when he told me he loved me, I… I did not believe it at first, or understand it. But he looked into my eyes as he said it, and we… I could not forget it. I ran away from him, but it stayed with me. I couldn't understand it, why I could still hear his voice in my ears, and feel his touch. It hurt me, inside, as if he had cursed me, or trapped me in some way. But when I saw him again, I…'_ she sighed. _'I knew the moment I saw him. That we were meant to be together. Always.'_

Vidar sighed. _'I wish I could understand that, Mother. I have wanted a mate all my life. More than once I thought of leaving here to find a place where there were other dragons, but somehow I never did. But you have not answered my question, Mother. Did my father look like the dragon I saw in my dream?'_

'_Show it to me,'_ said Skade.

Vidar showed her a brief image from his memory. It was indeed of a dragon; a thin, sinewy dragon whose black scales were loose and dull on his flanks. He was lying on his belly, gasping for breath, pinioned by chains and hemmed in on all sides by the bars of the cage that imprisoned him, so small that it had rubbed away the scales and exposed raw, bleeding flesh underneath. His eyes turned mutely toward her, and the instant she saw them she recognised them. Black, glittering eyes, full of mute appeal.

She shuddered as the vision faded away. Vidar must have sensed her thoughts. _'So I was right,' _he said. _'That was my father.'_

'_Yes,'_ Skade whispered. _'Yes, Vidar. That is your father.'_

Vidar stood up tall, his wings twitching. _'Then I know what I must do,'_ he said. _'There is only one more thing I must know. What was his name? Tell me my father's name.'_

Skade looked at him. He was so strong, so certain, his great muscles radiating confidence, his voice full of certainty. He was so like his father in that moment that it made her want to cry. _'His name was… Galbatorix.'_

Vidar paused, looking down at her. _'Galbatorix? That's… a strange name.'_

Skade's eyes were shining with tears. _'Yes. But it was his name. Galbatorix.'_

Vidar's uncertainty disappeared. _'Then I know all I must know,'_ he said. _'Thankyou, Mother. And goodbye.'_

Skade started up. _'Vidar, where are you going?'_

Vidar turned to look out over the ocean. The storm was still there; a great, huddled mass, flashing with lightning. _'I have been honing my skills,'_ he said. _'My command over the storm is complete. I can make it subside, briefly, to let me through.'_

'_But Vidar-,'_

'_No. Be calm, Mother. I know what I am doing. This is what the dreams have been trying to tell me.'_ Vidar sighed deeply. It was a sound of gentle and passionate relief. _'I will go to Alagaësia,'_ he said. _'And I will find my father.'_


End file.
